Recompense
by MusicMamaE
Summary: Picks up at the end of S04E09. When Klaus finds himself hurt and vulnerable, an old friend from the past returns to remind him of the man he could be. Some light Klaus/OC. Eventual Klaus/Caroline. [Bad at summaries.] Rated T for future language and content. R&Rs appreciated!
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** _I obviously do not own The Vampire Diaries, or there would have been so much Klaus/Caroline by now we'd all be smothered to death by it._

**Prologue**

For the first time in a long time, his legs felt unsteady beneath him. His hands were shaking. The breath he didn't even need came out in labored gasps and growls, conjuring white clouds as they hit the cold night air. His mind was buzzing, but at the same time blank. He was an animal in his most primal state, moving on automation, no real destination or plan or thought-process to be found. His hand clenched around the neck of the champagne bottle he'd picked up somewhere, curling into a fist so tight that he could hear the tiny pressure fractures spider-webbing their way up the glass. Then he heard it, in the distance. A familiar voice having a one-sided conversation with tonight's culprit. She was asking where he'd disappeared to – telling him he'd promised to be her sober driver. He altered his course without realizing, following the voice until its owner came into view.

"Good evening, Carol." The words came without his mind summoning them – he was just an observer in all of this, as he so often was when that animal in him pushed to the forefront. He staggered forward and the mayor looked up from where she was sitting, at the edge of the fountain, clearly alarmed. He nodded toward her mobile, "You're looking for Tyler. I'd like to have a word with him myself."

He could hear her heartbeat quickening, see her body begin to tremble. She knew. She'd known what her son had been planning, and now she knew that there were going to be consequences. Good. He wouldn't have to answer any questions – he'd grown so weary of answering questions. "Klaus, please," her voice was quiet, but he heard her as if she was speaking through a megaphone. He felt a familiar, sick sense of amusement in her pleading tone. "Don't hurt him. He's my son; he's all I have."

"And you're all he has," Klaus added with a small smirk. He pondered this, urges bubbling to the surface. Urges to do what he did best: Rob those who'd wronged him of those they loved the most. "There's a beautiful symmetry to that, don't you think?" He let her consider his words for a moment before he grabbed a handful of her auburn hair, using all of his strength to force her head into the ice cold pool behind her. Even muffled by the water, he could hear her screams, hear the way they silenced as her throat filled and the liquid started working its way into her lungs.

Then two arms wrapped around him from the back and jerked him away, throwing him a few feet and sending him sprawling through the grass. It wasn't the strength that had undone him – it was the surprise of the vampire's interruption. He'd been so involved in what he was doing that he'd let his guard down. He hadn't heard anyone coming. He regained his bearings quickly, jumping to his feet and running forward as the intruder fished Carol Lockwood out of the fountain and pounded the water from her lungs. He caught the vampire by the shoulders, registering the identity but sparing no mercy as he plunged his fist into her chest, fingers wrapping around her heart.

He heard her gasp. Saw her bright blue eyes go wide and quickly begin to lose their light. Felt her heart pound between his fingers like a jackhammer. "Everything I've done," he growled, loud and in her face, "Has been undone because of you. You are always the bait," he squeezed a little harder, "And I always know that I am being baited, yet I allow you to charm me. And because of you, I have lost _everything_ I've worked for!"

"Klaus," she croaked, eyelids growing heavy as the life began to leave her, "Please."

"Please?" He clenched a tighter fist still, a humorless laugh escaping his throat. "I have honored every please that has come from your bloody mouth; I am tired of your requests, Caroline." She forced her eyes to stay open, watching him, those perfect sapphires in their almond-shaped setting staring him down as they'd done so many times before. And again, he felt himself go weak. God, how he hated feeling so weak around her, so enslaved. All at once, his energy was gone and he let his fingers go lax, pulling his hand from her chest and leaving a macabre hole in her snow white dress. "Go," he said quietly, collapsing onto the bench behind him and burying his face in his hands.

Caroline took several deep breaths in an attempt to steady herself before reaching down to help Carol to her feet, both of them tripping over themselves as they moved away from him. "Oh, and ladies," Klaus said through his fingers as they went. "You might want to issue a warning to that special man in your lives: Tell him to run. Because when I find him – and I will find him – I am going to tear him limb from limb. Very, very slowly." There was a beat of silence, then the rustle of branches and stiff grass as Caroline gathered her boyfriend's mother into her arms and sped away, leaving him alone.

Alone. The word struck true for not the first time in his life. For a brief, wonderful moment, he'd had comrades – creatures of his own design, loyal to him, grateful to him, as close to an ideal family as he could ever get. Now they were gone, and he'd pushed away his siblings in an attempt to create his hybrids, so he truly was on his own now. He was empty again. Empty as always.

He didn't know what to do with himself. There was a restless need banging around in his body, telling him he needed to do something – scream, fight, kill something – but an emotional exhaustion that left him almost paralyzed. After sitting perfectly still for almost an hour, he finally managed to get to his feet and make his way home, to the too-large house that now only he occupied, and crawl into his shower. If only his enemies could see him now, unharmed but wholly undone, worn out to the point that he could barely stay standing long enough to clean the copious amounts of blood from his body. By the time he collapsed into his king sized bed, with its crisp white sheets and the thick quilt he'd had for over a century, he felt as if he could sleep for centuries. Maybe it would be better for him if he did.

* * *

He woke not centuries later, but a mere seven hours. The light was streaming through the windows, blinding him and eliciting a low growl from the back of his throat. He pulled the quilt over his head and rolled over, willing himself to fall back asleep and stay that way. Stay asleep forever.

"No," he grumbled to himself, ripping the blanket away from his face and running a hand through his hair, "We're not doing that, Niklaus. We are above this sort of foolish self-pity." He wondered if, if he told himself that enough, it would eventually become true. He continued to give himself an internal pep-talk. Buck up. There are things to see, people to torture, new endeavors to be masterminded. He would move on from the loss of his hybrids, and the first step in that healing process would be ripping Tyler Lockwood to shreds and spreading the pieces of him all over this god forsaken town. The thought alone cheered him up enough to get his day started, rolling out of bed and pulling on a pair of jeans and a dark green sweater. He wasn't stupid; he knew that Tyler Lockwood had probably skipped town even before he told Caroline to issue his warning. He also knew that Tyler was good at hiding from him and finding him would take a lot of time and energy that he didn't want to spend, but fortunately he had a quicker source. He knew a witch with a knack for tracking spells.

He found her in the square, walking with Elena and speaking in hushed tones. They were talking about him, of course. About how he'd tried to kill Tyler's mother. About how he was coming after Tyler and probably anyone else who'd been involved in last night's plan. "Too right you are," he said by way of an introduction, clasping his hands behind his back and giving the startled girls a little smile. "However, I could be persuaded to forgive and forget certain parties in return for a favor."

"What makes you think we'd do you any favors?" Elena spat at him, composing herself quickly. The worst part, in Klaus's opinion, about her transformation was not necessarily the loss of his precious doppelganger blood, but her amplified audacity. It was hard enough to keep his patience with her when she was human.

"What makes you think you have anything to offer me?" He snapped back, looking her up and down, "At least when you were human, you were useful. Now you have nothing to offer me. You, on the other hand," he turned his gaze to Bonnie and gave her his most charming smile, "Have a lot to offer."

Bonnie shook her head, "I still don't have my Powers back, and even if I did-"

"A simple tracking spell, Bonnie," he cajoled. "Takes as much Power as you have in your pinky nail."

"And even if I did," she continued, more firmly, "I wouldn't help _you_. Not after what you did to Carol Lockwood. And Caroline," she said her name almost like a question, like she couldn't even believe she was saying the words, "You almost ripped her heart from her chest."

Klaus rolled his eyes, his patience thinning. "Carol's alive, Caroline's alive, and the way I see it," he took a step closer, voice getting dangerously low, "The only thing that's going to keep you alive is doing this simple tracking spell for me."

Bonnie considered this, swallowed the lump in her throat, and asked, "Who do you need to find?"

"Tyler Lockwood."

"Okay, you are out of your _mind_," Elena interjected almost before he'd finished saying the name. She stepped in front of the witch and put up her hand like a stop sign. "We aren't going to help you find our friend so that you can kill him."

He fixed her with a cold gaze, the gold of his wolf eyes flashing through his irises. "You're aware of the alternative, aren't you?"

"You're not going to attack us out in the open." Elena waved her hand around, gesturing to the Mystic Falls residents walking around, blissfully unaware of the supernatural turmoil brewing in the square. "Even you're not that stupid."

"I'm flattered that you give me so much credit, Elena," his voice was nothing more than a growl now, "But I have had a very bad week-end and I'm not above a little act of stupidity." His mouth widened to reveal the sharp crescents of his wolf teeth and he lunged forward, barely giving the girls time to scream. Then, suddenly, he was thrown backward so hard that he hit a tree and his head snapped back, splintering the trunk with the force of the impact. Somehow, no one else around seemed to notice.

Klaus was seething now. "Witch!" He roared, "You lying little-" He groaned as he was forced back deeper into the tree, his body beginning to leave an impression in it.

Bonnie's eyes were wide, searching the area frantically. "It's not me," she told Elena when she gave her a questioning look, "Even when I had Power, I couldn't hold an Original like that."

"Don't feel too bad, _cher_," a voice said. It was a female voice, soft and sweet, with a lilting New Orleans accent that sounded like a song when she spoke. "It takes a lot of practice to hold something so old and stubborn in a place he don't wanna be." The voice was new to the girls, but something in it was familiar to Klaus. All three of them looked around for the source, but they couldn't find her.

Elena glanced around at the passersby, then at Klaus, still pinned to the tree. "Why does no one seem to notice this?"

Behind them, a group of young girls sat around a picnic table. Among them was one that didn't quite fit in – she was too old, too exotic, too new. She stood and turned toward them, face partially hidden by a wide-brimmed summer hat, but a smile visible on her face. "Just a tiny little glimmer, redirecting peoples' focus away from us. Best to keep these things between us girls, right?" She took a few steps forward and the girls studied her, trying to decide whether this was a friend or an enemy. She was tall, probably around 5'9", with deep olive skin and long black hair that hung in a thick braid over her left shoulder. Her arms and legs were well toned and on display from her knee-length skirt and sleeveless shirt, all white and perfectly pressed. She looked like an Italian supermodel.

Klaus opened his mouth to spit a threat at this new stranger when he caught a whiff of her, and the scent of cinnamon and pears invaded his senses, awakening old memories. That skin. That smile. The southern accent was new, but the tone beneath it was the same. But it couldn't be... "Why, Niklaus," even with the new accent, his name still sounded beautiful on her lips, "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"You're supposed to be dead," he breathed, barely able to get the words out.

"And yet," she gestured to herself, smirking. "Ladies," she said with a nod to Elena and Bonnie as she cut between them, moving closer to the tree.

Klaus stared at her as she approached, slack-jawed. He really was having a hell of a week-end. "Let me go," he said. It wasn't an order, as it normally would have been. It was almost a pleading. The woman raised her chin so her deep green eyes became visible, and the hybrid fell from the tree and caught himself before he crumpled to the ground. He took a small step forward, studying the woman carefully.

After a minute, Elena gathered enough courage to ask, "Who is she?"

Without thinking, Klaus replied – a reply that he would regret later, because it made him vulnerable. "She's my best friend. Kamila," he said quietly, reaching for her but then dropping his hand when she stepped toward him without hesitation. He looked over his shoulder at Elena and Bonnie, the way they were studying the two of them, sizing them up. He knew they were already calculating, figuring out how to use this against him, and he had to get out of there. Fast. He grabbed for Kamila, gathering her in his arms before disappearing, leaving the two girls to wonder what the hell had just happened.

**A/N:  
**_All right, I know that my characters are a little bit OOC in this prologue, but they'll balance out in the coming chapters. I swear, I really am a decent writer; I just had a hard time getting off on the right foot here!_


	2. Italy, 1817

**_1817 – Campodimele,_**_** Italy**_

"Tasso, _alzarsi_," the young woman prodded her brother with the brush end of her broom. "Tasso Parisi, _svegliarsi questo istante_!" The little boy groaned and rolled over onto his side, waving her away. "Tasso, if you don't wake up before Father gets in from the fields, you know what will happen."

A little girl with brown curly hair ran past, leaping onto the bed and tugging at her twin brother's shirt. "Tasso, get up, get up! I saw Papa! He's coming in!" In a flash, Tasso was standing and tucking his shirt into his pants like he was fifty, as opposed to five. He had barely pushed his feet into his shoes and smoothed over his hair when the door of their little stone house flung open and two men lumbered in.

"Good morning, Father," the older sister gave the older man a cautious kiss on the cheek, then gave one to the younger man, barely three years older than her, "Uberto."

"Kamila," her big brother kissed her back.

Her father only grunted, "_Prima colazione_." Breakfast. Kamila nodded and quickly delivered the two plates she'd spent the last half hour preparing. They were loaded with eggs and meats and breads – everything her father and brother needed to get up their strength for a day of working the fields of their farm. For her and her younger siblings, there was bread, and what was left of the goat's milk butter she'd made. She sliced the hard bread and divided it up, taking a smaller portion and sneaking the twins a bit of the jam Signora Agostino had given her for her birthday the month before. They'd been born early, so they were already small for their age; Kamila was always giving them more of the food and any extras she could manage, hoping it would help them grown bigger and stronger. If they didn't, they couldn't help with work around the farm, and that would only bring on their father's anger.

"Brunela," Kamila hissed at her sister, gesturing for the girl to angle her bread away when she ate so their father couldn't see the jam spread over the top. He didn't allow them to take birthday gifts, so Kamila had been keeping the jar hidden in the space between the stove and the wall. If he found it, he would throw out what was left of it and beat her soundly for accepting the gift in the first place.

The twins polished off their bread at their designated table before turning to face their father, awaiting his dismissal. He gave it with a wave of his hand, more interested in the pork on his plate, and the twins quickly scurried into the other room to get ready for classes. They were taught by Signore Agostino, the same man who'd taught Kamila and Uberto before they'd gotten too old and been pulled out of school to work on the farm. Kamila wished she could have stayed longer, learned more, but he wouldn't have it. With her mother dead, someone had to do the housework.

"Tasso, Brunela," she followed the twins, holding her up her long skirts so she wouldn't trip as she passed through to their room. "Don't forget your slate-boards; last time I had to bring them to you, the dishes didn't get washed and Father was very angry with me."

"Papa is always angry," Tasso said quietly, but took special care to locate the little stone slab and tuck it under his arm. Kamila made sure both children had their coats and writing stones before leading them back through the kitchen.

"Say goodbye to Father and Brother," she instructed the twins.

"Goodbye, Papa," they said in unison, "Goodbye, Uberto." The two men waved them off and the children followed their older sister out the door and down the street to the Agostino home, where five other children got their schooling. Kamila gave Tasso and Brunela each a kiss before heading back home to wash the dishes and milk the goats. How long would her brother and sister have before this became their life as well, she wondered as she steadied a nanny over a wooden bucket. She'd gone to classes until she was twelve, Uberto only until he was ten. How long before their father pulled the twins out and put them to work as well? She hoped he would let them stay longer, so they wouldn't end up like their older siblings. Kamila was fifteen and Uberto eighteen, and their lack of education and the callouses of work had left them both without suitors. At least Uberto could barter for a wife – Kamila could not pay or trade for a husband to save her from this lifestyle.

She was pulled from her thoughts when a row of sharp knuckles glanced across her cheekbone, snapping her head to the side. "Stupid girl," her father barked at her, pointing to the ground. Her eyes had filled quickly with tears, but Kamila blinked them away to see the thin spatter of milk that had missed the bucket and landed in the grass. It was less than a teaspoon, but that didn't matter to her father. He would not tolerate wastefulness, in any shape or form.

"I'm sorry, Father," she said sincerely. She wanted to cradle her face in her hand, but she knew better. She knew how showing weakness would set off his temper. "I will be more careful."

"Eh!" He scoffed and snorted, spitting at her feet before ambling up the hill to their crops. He was a man of few words, her father. He preferred to speak with his fists. Kamila gave the rest of the milking her complete attention, making sure every drop made it into the bucket, and none splashed out as she carried it to the churner.

She'd finished the first batch of butter, filled another bucket with milk, and was churning it when Tasso and Brunela returned from school. Brunela had tears rushing down her face, her nose bright pink and her eyes large and scared. She tried to run past and into the house, but Kamila caught her by the arm and pulled her to eye level. "Brunela," she said gently, "What's wrong, little one?"

The girl stuttered through her sobs, "It w-was an accide-ent."

"What was?"

"My s-slate-board b-b-broke." She held up two pieces of the slate, completely split in two, and started sobbing loudly again.

Tasso came up behind his sister and frowned, "She dropped it and it hit a rock."

"Oh, little one," Kamila pulled Brunela in and hugged her tightly, "It wasn't your fault. It's okay."

"She says Papa's going to be mad," Tasso objected, "And he will be."

Kamila had no response to this, because she knew better than anyone that it was true. If he'd struck her for spilling a drop of milk, what would he do when he found out he had to buy another slate-board because Brunela had broken hers? "Okay," she said, taking a deep breath and thinking quickly. Father would be in soon for lunch, and as always he would demand to see the work his children had done in school today, to make sure they weren't wasting the small amount he paid Signore Agostino to teach them. He would see the board, and there was no telling how far he would take his punishment. "Okay," Kamila said again, wiping her hands on her apron, "You two go inside. Go to your room and use Tasso's board to review your lesson from the day. Brunela, give me your board," she took the two pieces and tucked them beneath the churner, then waved the twins inside. Her mind was moving a mile a minute, trying to think of a way to remedy this situation without anyone getting hurt. She was coming up blank.

"Kamila!" Her father's gruff bark reached her ears as he came down the hill, Uberto trailing behind. Even from a distance, she could see that her brother was limping and there was a black bruise forming around his bottom lip. "_Pranzo_. But none for your brother, _l'idiota_."

"Yes, Father." The young woman rose as the two men passed her, waiting until they were inside before retrieving the broken slate pieces and tucking them into her apron. She followed them in and cut a slice of the meat pie she'd prepared, placing it in front of her father while Uberto looked on, clearly starving but unwilling to make a move. Their father took his plate and carried it with him into the twins' room, where they were both looking over the words on Tasso's board. When he left the room, Kamila quickly cut an imperceptibly small slice of the pie and placed it in her brother's bare hands, and he scarfed it down as she followed their father into the other room.

"Answer me," he was ordering the twins, who had huddled together with their backs against Tasso's bed. He had the single board in his free hand, waving it at them.

"Father," Kamila interrupted, hoping her voice was casual, "What's happened?"

He nodded toward his youngest daughter, "Your sister's board is gone."

"Gone?" Kamila feigned innocence, looking around, "Well, I'm sure it's-"

"Where has it gone?!" He roared at the young children, "Tell me!" He pulled back the slate in his hand and prepared the bring it down on Brunela when Kamila stepped in front of her, pulling the broken pieces from her apron.

"Father, please," she held the pieces out to him, "Hers broke, but it was an accident." Her father studied her with a furrowed brow, silently demanding explanation. She took a deep breath and concocted a quick lie. "Brunela brought it to me when she got home, to show me how well she's been doing with her letters. It slipped from my hand and broke over the churner; I apologize, Father."

His eyes went wide and his jaw clenched, "You apologize?" He gave her a good, hard shove that sent her flying back against the wall, head striking against stone. She crumpled to the ground, feeling concussed and suddenly very tired, and saw that her father was advancing on her now, both hands free and raised. Then her view was obstructed as a tiny frame stepped in front of her as she had done just moments ago.

"It's not her fault, Papa," Brunela's soft voice insisted shakily. "I dropped it on a rock after class and it broke. I'm sorry, Papa. I'm really, really sorry." Kamila could hear in her voice that she was crying again, and she didn't need to see her to know what those brown eyes were big and terrified, enough to melt most peoples' hearts. Unfortunately, Alrigo Parisi was not most people.

He pulled back his giant fist and struck the small girl, sweeping her all the way across the room until she landed in a crumpled heap against her bed. Tasso ran to her side, only to be side-swept himself as their father came upon them. In the haze of her own mind, Kamila could hear her young siblings screaming, crying. She could hear Uberto trying to pull their father away, only to be forced back with a sharp elbow to the gut. She knew she was seriously hurt and should stay still, but her body began to move without her command. She had to get to the kids. She had to protect them. Without realizing it, her fingers wrapped around the heavy ceramic jewelry box that had belonged to her mother. She struggled to lift it, gripping it with both hands, and swung it blindly. There was a loud, wet _thunk_ and then the sound of a body dropping. Her vision was blurry and doubled, but when she looked down she could make out the rough outline of a body, and the pool of red gathering around it. Her last realization before she lost consciousness was that she had committed the ultimate sin. She had killed her father.

"Kamila?" Uberto had followed her out to the fields, where she often spent her nights now. It had been three weeks since she'd killed her father, and she wasn't coping well. She didn't regret protecting her family, and she knew they were better off without his abuse, but taking a human life was tormenting her. She felt restless all the time now. She hadn't had a full night's sleep since it happened – she kept waking up and seeing the blood on her hands. She wondered if she'd ever be able to truly wash it off.

She looked over her shoulder. "Brother," she greeted before turning her eyes back to the setting sun.

"You should come inside," he insisted. "There's going to be a full moon tonight – the wolves will be out.

"I still have a while," she told him, folding her arms over her chest. "I'll be in soon."

There was a rustle of fabric as Uberto slipped off his jacket and hung it over her shoulders, giving her a light peck on the cheek. "All right, sister; we'll save you some supper, and I'll get the twins to bed."

She smiled weakly and nodded, "Thank you. I'll be in soon," she repeated, then listened as his footsteps moved away from her. She continued to watch the sun sink slowly over the horizon, the full moon growing brighter in the darkening sky. As it grew darker, Kamila noticed that her legs had begun to ache. She began walking further from the house, thinking if she exercised them, the pain would go away. Instead, it grew stronger, spreading through the rest of her body. Her arms, her chest, her stomach – everything throbbed and burned, hurting her so badly that she dropped at the edge of their fields, just outside of the woods that bordered their land.

Suddenly, she was jerked sideways as her left arm snapped at a 270-degree angle, shoulder popping from the socket. It was more than that, though; every joint in her arm dislocated, every bone shattered, every muscle tore. And it wasn't just her left arm. It moved to her other arm, her legs, her ribs, her neck, even her skull. Everything in her was shattering. Color was leaking out of the world, everything going black, white and gray, but becoming brighter and more vibrant. Her jaw cracked, her teeth ached, her skin prickled. She began to cry, to scream, to writhe in pain on the muddy ground. What was happening? Was this god's punishment for what she'd done to her father – was this her punishment?

"I'm sorry," she screamed to the sky, body twisted around her in an unnatural fashion. "I'm sorry! Please! Make it stop! _Ti prego, farò qualsiasi cosa_! _Ti prego, fallo smettere_!" And then it was over. At least, as far as Kamila knew. Everything went fuzzy, and then altogether black.

The sun was peeking over the horizon when she regained consciousness, her head pounding and her body sore. She sat up, dizzy, disoriented, and lost. She was somewhere in the middle of the woods, lying on soft moss with dirt and leaves covering her body. Her very, very naked body. She gasped, groping around for something to cover herself with, and her hands found a bundle of fabric. Unfortunately, it was still attached to something. Something that groaned when she grabbed at it. She screamed, turned, and screamed again. Lying just a foot away from her was a body, mangled and bloody but still recognizable. "Signore Ricci," she breathed. The town doctor's son.

"_Diavolo_," the young man accused in a gasp, choking on his own blood. There were deep cuts all over his body – scratches and bites, like he'd been mauled by an animal – and it was clear that he was fading fast.

"Signore, what happened?" Kamila begged the answer, praying for something that would take the place of her fears. Fears that, beneath the dirt and leaves, she was actually covered in this man's blood. Fears that the black substance stuck beneath her fingernails was anything else but his life.

"_Diavolo_," he repeated. Devil. He was calling her a devil, confirming her nightmare.

She found a jacket near him – the jacket Uberto had given her the night before – and covered herself with it before pulling herself next to the dying man. "Signore Ricci, I am so sorry," she told him, eyes filling with tears. "I don't know what has happened to me – I don't know what I did." She pressed her hands to the largest gash, the one in his stomach that was quickly draining him of all his blood. It was no use. She was too late, and nothing was going to keep him alive. She began to sob, leaning forward so her head was resting on his chest, "Please forgive me; I did not know what I was doing."

He made a gurgling sound, no longer able to form words. He was almost gone. Choking back her tears, Kamila wiped her eyes with bloodied hands and did the only thing she could think to do: Send him in peace. She conjured up a memory of her mother, and the songs she used to sing to her before bed. She began to hum the melody, then sang the familiar words.

"_Andare a dormire e quando ti svegli  
__Ci sarà un giorno più luminoso  
__Le stelle sono cadute dal cielo  
__Ma tenere chiudere questa ninna nanna  
__La tua vita è tutto ciò che ho di più  
__E io vi terrà al sicuro da paura  
__Per se le stelle sono caduti giù  
__Te, amore mio, sono sani e salvi_"

And then he was gone. She felt the life leave him, felt his body tremble and then give out. She sobbed against his torn shirt until the sun was completely raised, brightening the sky like it was just another die. But it wasn't just another day. In less than a month, Kamila had killed two men. She was certainly being punished.

She didn't want to, but she stripped Signore Ricci of his clothes and secured them around her own body, using the jacket to hide the rips in the shirt. It took her almost an hour to find her way out of the woods and sneak back to her house, taking great care that no one else saw her as she sprinted across the field, her legs burning beneath her. When she finally made it inside, she was grateful to find that the twins had already left for classes. Unfortunately, Uberto was waiting for her at the kitchen table.

If it had been her father, he would have been on her immediately, beating her until she was barely able to stand. But Uberto was nothing like their father, and he looked on her with nothing but concern. "Sister," he said gently, taking in the state of her, "What happened to you? You said you would be in soon, and you were gone all night."

"I know, Uberto," her voice was just a croak. "I'm sorry if I made you worry."

"I assumed you'd slept in the barn, like when you were little," he said, standing and walking over to her. He pushed her matted hair from her face, looked at the clothes that clearly were not hers. "It's only now that I'm worried – what's happened?"

She tried to come up with a clever lie. She could tell him that she'd been out with a man, but that was such a despicable act in and of itself, besides the fact that it was technically true, that she couldn't bring herself to say it. Besides, how could she account for the blood, the tears in the clothing, the dirt that coated her body? After minutes in silence, trying to concoct a story, she finally broke down and threw herself against her brother's chest, weeping as she told him everything that had happened. He didn't believe her; why should he? But he did hold her until she'd finished crying and told her to sleep, insisting he could take care of her chores for the day. By the time she woke again, four hours later, she'd managed to convince herself that it had all been just a bad dream.

That is, until the same thing happened the next month.

And the month after that.

And the month after that.

Each night, on the full moon, she would get that familiar ache in her body and would excuse herself to the field, far enough away that she could trust she wouldn't turn back and go after her own family. She thought that escaping into the woods would be safe – no one traveled them at night – but she was wrong. She always woke up with at least one body near, either dead or near death. She always stayed with them, singing her soft lullaby until the light left their eyes. None ever survived. Kamila was starting to wish that she was dead.

"My boy!" Signora Bencivenne cried as her two oldest sons carried the mangled body of their brother Marcello between them. This was Kamila's seventh month of punishment and she'd just finished cleaning up at home and was walking the twins to class when they came upon the scene. She covered her mouth with her hand, holding back her tears. Just an hour before, she'd been singing "Il sonno di stelle cadenti" to Marcello Bencivenne as he breathed his last breath. He was one of her victims.

"Signora," Signore Agostino rushed out of his home and to the old woman's side, "What's happened?"

She pointed a shaky finger at her dead son, "She has taken him, Lorenzo. _La ninna nanna regina_, she has taken my boy!" She collapsed into a heap on the ground, her face buried in her hands.

While Signore Agostino attempted to console the woman, Kamila gathered the twins and took them up to his house, where his wife was standing in the doorway with the other children. "Signora Agostino," Kamila said, trying to keep her voice even and calm, "What is going on? Who is this _la ninna nanna regina_?"

The woman waved the children further back into the house before leaning in and explaining quietly. "For almost half of the year now," she said with a sigh, "Once a month there have been killings. Terrible, like an animal. They thought it was wolves until the third killing, when someone heard singing in the woods. Soon after, they found the body of poor Alberto Fratelli around where the voice had come from. It has happened a number of times now, including this morning – the Lullaby Queen always sings as her victims die."

Kamila swallowed and ran a hand through her hair, "That's terrible." They talked about it a while longer, until Signore Agostino returned to teach his class and Kamila returned to the farm. She cried the entire morning and afternoon as she did her chores, crying for the evil Lullaby Queen that was terrorizing Campodimele, and being tormented herself. When Uberto found her and gathered her into his arms, all she could do was gasp, "I don't want to be this anymore." And she could see on his face that he finally believed what she'd been telling him. She was a monster.

* * *

She woke half-draped over a dead log, one month later, and she was immediately flooded with dread, as always. She looked around, finding not one, but two victims in her presence. One, a young man barely thirteen years old, was already dead. The other, a woman only a little older than her, was breathing shallowly and bleeding from a deep gash in her chest. "No," Kamila gasped, sniffling as the tears came, "Why can't I stop this? Please." She moved forward and pressed her hands over the wound, trying as always to save her victim first.

"She will die." A voice startled Kamila, and she threw herself away from the young woman, looking instead at the older woman that had appeared amongst the trees. She was beautiful, with pale skin and long brown hair that almost touched the ground, dressed in a soft green dress that was so thin it would cause quite a stir if any one the townspeople saw her in it.

Not that Kamila was thinking of the townspeoples' reaction to the dress. She was thinking more of their reaction when this stranger told them that she was _la ninna nanna regina_. "Wh-who are you?" She asked, grasping for any scrap of clothing to cover herself.

"Allow me," the mystery woman said in a soft, calm voice. Out of nowhere, she produced a long black cloak, draping it carefully over Kamila's shoulders. "There. Now we may speak without distraction."

"Not entirely without distraction," Kamila snapped, furious that this woman would be so blind to the woman dying just feet from her.

The woman spared a glance to the woman, "I understand your concern for her, _la ninna nanna regina_. You cannot save her, so you at least feel obligated to send her off with a song. I promise you, I will not waste all of the time she has left, and you will want to hear what I have to say."

Up close, Kamila could see that the woman's eyes were a captivating shade of green that matched the green of the grass beneath their feet. "Who are you?" She asked, her voice barely a whisper.

The woman considered this question thoughtfully, before saying, "I do not have a proper name. However, people do seem to be fond of calling me Mother." At Kamila's confused look, the woman explained, "I am the Spirit of the Earth, Kamila Parisi. I am Nature itself."

Kamila backed away, "You are mad, signorina."

"You are a werewolf," the woman laughed, and it was the sound of birds chirping and wolves howling and the wind rushing through the trees and all of the other beautiful sounds of the forest. "And you would call me mad for claiming to be something outside of the norm? Kamila, my dear, I need you to hear me and believe me, because I have come to bestow a gift upon you."

"A gift?" Kamila became hopeful. "You're going to lift this curse?"

The woman shook her head, "I am sorry, but I cannot undo what is in your blood. This is not punishment, Kamila; this is something that has been in your family for many generations. You were just unfortunate enough to be the first in your family to awaken this part of yourself." She knelt next to the young woman and laid a hand on her shoulder, "But I have something to offer that will make this life more bearable for you."

"What?" Kamila implored, "What could possibly make this life more bearable?"

"I want you to first understand that this is not done," she said sternly. "There is a balance to Nature, and to upset that balance by giving you what I intend to give is very much an exception to the laws by which I live." Kamila nodded and the woman continued, "You were born of the wolf; that is all you were meant to be. But I have watched you, and how tormented you are. I have heard every song you've sung for those you've killed, I have been there every time you wept for these lives lost, I have felt how you have become undone by it all."

"Please," Kamila breathed, "Just take it away."

The woman frowned, "As I said, I cannot take it away. But I can give you Power." She moved her hand down, over Kamila's heart, "The Power of Nature – the Power of Magick. You will be able to heal those you have injured; you will be able to prevent death."

Kamila moved away from the woman, "You would make me a Witch? I am a Catholic, signorina; Witches are to be condemned to hell."

The woman moved forward, insistent. "Witches are not evil, Kamila Parisi; they do not go against the will of god. They simply do the good work of Nature." Kamila was still unconvinced, so the woman said, "Do you want people to keep dying at your hand? I am doing you a kindness, my dear. I have offered this to only a handful of people throughout history, and only to those who truly deserve it and will do good with it. I cannot and will not force it on you, but I also will not offer it again after this encounter." She looked over her shoulder at the woman still struggling to breathe, staring at them in horror. "I fear she has only minutes left."

Kamila looked between the dying woman and the Spirit woman in front of her, back and forth as she considered this offer. She wanted to stay loyal to her religion, to walk the path god wanted her to be on, but she also couldn't stand any more blood on her hands. One more kill, and she would give up. She would kill herself, and she'd be betraying her religion anyway.

In a whisper so soft that it was barely audible, she said, "No."

"Pardon?"

A little louder, she said, "No, I don't want people to keep dying at my hand. I want to be able to save them."

The woman put her hand back over Kamila's heart. "I need you to tell me that you accept this Power, and vow to do good with it."

"I," Kamila's voice cracked and she cleared her throat before trying again. "I accept this Power, and I vow to do good with it." Then, with a burst of overwhelming heat, a sensation streamed from the woman's hand and into Kamila's chest, spreading through her entire body and making her feel lighter, yet stronger. Powerful.

The exchange lasted only seconds, and the woman let her hand drop and rose gracefully to her feet. "Now," she pointed to the bleeding woman, less than halfway still in the world of the living, "Heal her."

"But how?" Kamila asked.

"Let your instincts guide you."

Kamila stood and took a few hesitant steps forward before sitting next to the dying woman. She placed her hands on the gash on her chest, as she'd done before when she was trying to stifle the blood flow. "Please," she whispered. To who, she wasn't sure. The dying woman? The Spirit of Nature? Herself? But she continued to plead, "Please, please, please," until suddenly she felt that same warmth spreading through her hands. From it, a sort of golden light threaded through the woman's wound, stitching the skin back together like a doctor's suture. Soon, the skin was back together, as if it had never been split apart, and the woman took in a deep breath as life flowed back into her.

The Spirit bent down next to them, taking Kamila's hand and holding it against the woman's forehead as she stared up at them both with terror in her eyes. "Tell her to forget."

Kamila looked back down at the young woman and told her, "You must forget this ever happened to you." She said nothing, but slowly nodded, her eyes going dull and blank. "Now, go home." She rose, looked in a few different directions, then slowly chose her path and began to walk.

Once she was gone, Kamila turned her sights on the dead boy. "What about him?"

"I am sorry, my dear," the Spirit told her, "But raising the dead is beyond the Power of any Witch. It is a violation of Nature. Sing your song for him, Kamila Parisi," she said sympathetically, backing slowly into the cover of the trees, "And have faith that this will be the last death you are responsible for in your animal state." Then she was gone. Kamila cried for the boy, brushed his hair away from his face, and sang "Il sonno di stelle cadenti" until her voice was raw.

For the next two months, Kamila enjoyed being able to wake after the full moon and save whoever she'd managed to find and terrorize during the night. She still sang to them before asking them to forget and sending them on their way. The downside, however, was that her new Power was not limited just to healing those she'd harmed. It had started coming out in her daily life. Any time she felt scared or overjoyed, or nervous or guilty, things would happen. The goat milk would sour, flowers would wilt, things in the house would shake and come crashing to the floor. It wasn't so bad when she was at home, with people that understood her, but it happened when she was in town as well. One day, when Gustavo Morelli was being too forward with her in a shop, she'd become so frustrated that a shelf, stacked with bags of flour, had begun to tremble and then fallen off the wall, striking Gustavo and breaking his arm. Then, when she'd dropped the twins off for class one day and Signora Agostino gave her a beautifully hand-sewn dress as a birthday gift, she'd been so grateful that all of the roses in her garden had bloomed at exactly the same moment, opening fully and releasing their fragrance into the air.

Then the unthinkable happened. One day, while he was bringing some crops around to the local shops, Uberto had been in an accident. His horse was pulling the carriage of crops when a drunk man stumbled in their path. Uberto tried to slow the horse but startled it instead, and the man had been trampled to death. This was when Kamila discovered how their curse was awakened: They had to take a life. On the night of the next full moon, she was alarmed when she heard her brother complaining about the same pains she had. On instinct, she led him out to the woods with her, and this turned out to be the wise decision because that was the first night Uberto changed.

They struggled through for two more months. Kamila was still coming to terms with her monthly transformations and her new Powers, and the fact that she always lost track of Uberto when they turned and wasn't always able to save his victims in the morning. Uberto was dealing with his new curse while still acting as the man of the house, but he was only eighteen years old. It was overwhelming, to say the least, and they were both reaching their breaking point.

That's when Uberto had made the decision for them. He sold off their livestock, their crops, their home and all of their land, and he sneaked his siblings onto an exporting ship. Soon, they were in America, traveling until they settled down in a city called New Orleans. They had plenty of money to buy a new home and several acres of land, and even hire a few people to work on their land with them. They quickly rose through the ranks of the city, becoming well-known and well-respected in their community. New Orleans was much bigger than Campodimele, and they're oddities went unnoticed. The way Kamila and Uberto disappeared one night a month. The way strange things seemed to happen whenever Kamila became particularly emotional. No one seemed to notice, or they just didn't care. New Orleans quickly became more of a home to them than any other place had ever been, and they were finally happy.

**A/N:**  
_In the next chapter, we will see how Kamila and Klaus met and became friends, then we'll pick back up on the TVD timeline! I realize that this chapter is freakishly long, but I wanted to establish Kamila's background the way I believe they would on the show._

_Also, I apologize for my truly terrible grasp of the Italian language. The lyrics to the lullaby should, roughly, translate to this in English:  
"Go to sleep and when you wake  
There will be a brighter day  
The stars are falling from the sky  
But hold close to this lullaby  
Your life is all that I hold dear  
And I will keep you safe from fear  
So if the stars have fallen down  
You, my love, are safe and sound"  
And the title, "Il sonno di stelle cadenti," should translate to, "The Sleep Of Shooting Stars"._


	3. New Orleans, 1822 - 1827

**_1822 – New Orleans, Louisian_**

"Good evening, Marcus," Kamila greeted as she entered her favorite restaurant. Marcus was the owner and spoke fluent Italian – he'd been helping Kamila learn English for the past four years. He and his wife had become close friends of the Parisi family, taking them in like surrogate parents, something they sorely needed. Kamila smoothed her skirt out before perching on one of the high seats at the bar.

Marcus smiled at her, "Hello, Kamila."

She looked around at the dozens of patrons, "It's busy tonight, yes?"

He nodded, "Yes, very. So if you want a drink or something to eat, you'd better order it before I start running around. It's just Marie and I working tonight."

"Do you need help?" Kamila asked, pushing at her sleeves, "I can cook or wash your dishes."

He laughed and shook his head. "Kamila, if I let an upstanding woman like you do scrub work in my place, people will start asking questions."

"Well, if you change your mind, I am here."

"Of course," he nodded. "In the meantime, food? Drink?"

"Just a glass of sherry, please." He poured her the drink and then left the bar to tend to the restaurant guests, moving quickly from table to table in a blur. Kamila sat back, nursing her drink and exchanging brief pleasantries with people she knew, getting a second drink from Marie as the hour grew later. Soon, it was just drunks and newspaper reporters, sucking down their drinks and speaking far too loudly.

With the crowd thinned out, Marcus and Marie both circled around the bar and started taking inventory. "So, Miss Kamila," Marie said as she examined a bottle of wine, "What has you out so late without a chaperone? You know Mister Uberto wouldn't approve; it's not safe."

"Uberto and I have not been getting along today," she shrugged, "I thought it best that we have space from each other. He should be asleep soon, then I will go home."

There was a loud crash at one of the tables in the back corner of the restaurant and all three of them turned to see the man who'd been drinking there all night smash a glass against the tabletop. "Whoops!" He laughed, drunkenly gleeful and unaware of the cut on his hand. "I am so sorry," he called to Marcus and Marie, though his tone was insincere. There was a pleasant timbre to his voice, and his accent was English. This wasn't surprising, though; New Orleans was full of immigrants. "I will pay for that, I give you my word."

Marcus nodded to him, "That's fine, friend. Don't worry about it."

"Oh, no-no-no," the drunk shook his head, "No, I always keep my word. And now that I've given my word, I must follow through. I have, erm..." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins, counting them out, "...I have not enough, at the moment. I will follow through, though!"

Marcus ignored this, turning his attention back to his wife. "Do we need more red wine, Marie?"

"Hey!" The drunk yelled, standing up so quickly that he rocked the table. "Are you calling me a liar?!"

"Nobody said anything like that," Marie called back, "Just settle down."

"I will not settle down!" His voice was a deafening roar, "I have had a very bad day and I do not want to be settled! I want to be drunk!" He kicked his chair and it splintered, causing Kamila to jump. "I want to be angry! I want to be distracted!" He picked up a second chair and smashed it against the wall. When he laid his hands on a third, Kamila jumped to her feet and ran across the room to stand in front of him.

"Distraction!" She shouted, louder than she meant to. "It's a funny story because when I was learning this language, I got the words 'distraction' and 'damage' mixed up. You, on the other hand," she cocked her head, "This is your language, no?" She reached out, wrapping her hands around the chair he still clenched and pulling it away from him. He let her, a curious expression crossing his face.

"What an audacious thing to say," he told her, voice becoming calmer.

"Audacious...?" Kamila repeated.

"_Audace_," he supplied. "_È più facile se parlo Italiano_?"

She shook her head, "No, this is my language now. Your Italian is very good, though."

"Thank you," he said with a tip of his head. He lowered himself down, realized his chair was in pieces, and jumped back up. "Where is my chair?!" He demanded.

Kamila pushed one toward him, "Here. Best in the house." He took it with a skeptical eye and sat down, watching her as she took a seat across from him. "So," she folded her hands on the table and leaned forward, "What has made your day so bad, signore?"

"My sister is a cow," he said immediately, then yelled, "Another drink! And one for the signorina!" Marcus hurried over with a bottle of sherry and two glasses, giving Kamila the are-you-okay look, then making his way back to the bar when she gave him a discrete nod. Meanwhile, the drunk man had started ranting. "I have done so much for my family," he took up the bottle with unsteady hands and attempted to pour, but he was already too far gone to maneuver it. Kamila took the bottle and poured a measure into each glass, pushing one across the table to him and taking a drink from her own, listening. "Especially for my sister," he said as he lifted his glass, "God, I have done _so much_ for my sister. But none of them appreciate anything I do."

Kamila nodded sympathetically, replenishing his drink when he finished it off. "And do you know what it is?" He slurred. "It's because I'm not afraid to be the bad guy, because somebody _has_ to be the bad guy." He punctuated this by slamming his new glass into the table. Kamila rolled her eyes and pushed hers toward him. In the corner of her eye, she could see a tense Marcus and a frightened Marie standing behind the bar, but she was unafraid. Fifteen years with Alrigo Parisi and it was going to take a lot more than a drunk Englishman to rattle her cage. "They know what I'm capable of," the man rambled on, "Yet still they cross me; why do they do that? Rebekah, that cow, she got what was coming to her."

This sparked Kamila's full attention. "What was coming to her?"

The man studied her for a long moment, raising an eyebrow and smiling a little, "I sent her away. Got her all cozied away in a box while she thinks about what she's done."

"In a box?" Kamila struggled to think of what this would mean, "She is in an asylum?"

"In a way, yes." He leaned forward, looking at her closely, "You're interesting."

Kamila snorted indelicately, "I am? Why am I interesting?"

"Because you're not afraid of me," he smiled, "And there aren't many people that aren't afraid of me. Also," he gestured to her, up and down, "You're not exactly the typical southern lady."

She rolled her eyes, "I am an Italian farm girl, not a southern lady. In my opinion, the women hear wear too much clothing." The drunk man snorted, and Kamila quickly backtracked, "I mean, so many skirts and corsets and shoes with pointy heels. Back home, all I had to wear with a dress, an apron, and flat shoes. I wear that here, and people think I am a...mm," she mulled over the word, "_Meretrice_?"

He'd just taken a drink of the sherry and promptly spit it across the table, choking with laughter. "A whore," he translated, "Though here, it's more proper to call them prostitutes. I agree, though," he told her as she refilled his glass, "The heavy clothing of city women seems unnecessary."

Kamila smiled, pleased. "And I agree with you," she reciprocated. When he gave her a look of confusion, she told him, "Somebody has to be the bad guy. No one can be kind all of the time – we would never get anywhere if we were."

He returned her smile, teeth sparkling white and perfectly straight. The smile fell to a small grin and he ran a hand through his blonde curly hair, pushing it out of his eyes. "You're a very clever young lady," he informed her. "I said I wanted to be drunk, and angry, and distracted; you allowed me to be all three without doing too much damage to your friend's place here," he waved a hand around. "And now, I feel better, and I thank you for that." He stood and picked up the sherry bottle, gulping down the last of it. "With that, I take my leave. I hope you have a wonderful evening, Signorina Italiano." He walked on unsteady feet, patting her briefly on the shoulder before continuing to the door.

She waited a moment, then a horrible realization hit her. She tossed a few coins on the table, enough for the bottle and the glasses that had been broken, and hurried after the drunk stranger. "Signore!" She called, surprised to find him already halfway down the street, walking sideways with his arms spread out from his sides. He stopped and turned, then waited as she ran to catch up.

"Signorina, I thought we'd already established that you are not a _meretrice_."

"What? No, I'm not!" She took a moment to catch her breath, pressing her hand to her stomach. Damn corsets. "It's not safe out here at night, especially if you've been drinking so much. Someone is going to take your money and kill you."

"You saw how much money I've got," his eyes were beginning to droop in his drunken stupor, "They'd be wasting their time."

She gestured to his feet, "You have nice shoes; they will take your shoes, too." She changed her pocketbook from one hand to the other and pushed a stray hair from her face. "I will walk you home."

He laughed loudly, the sound echoing off of all the surrounding buildings. "And who will walk you home?"

"People do not bother me." She gave no further explanation. "I will walk you home," she said definitively, raising her chin to show her resolve.

The man sighed and shook his head, "I have no home."

Kamila touched a hand to her chest, ashamed she hadn't put it together before. "You've got no money, no home... I am so sorry, signore. Come," she said, putting her hand on his arm and turning him around, "We have guest quarters on our property; you can stay there tonight. No, no," she held up a finger when he opened his mouth to protest, "No arguments. You will stay there. Come, Signore Bad Guy," she started gently pulling him, "We need a carriage; it is too long a walk to my house."

The man passed out in the carriage, but woke up enough to help bear some of his weight when they arrived at Parisi Piantagione. Kamila helped carry him to the guest quarters – a small blue box at the edge of the property that had originally been reserved for the servants, until the family had given them rooms in the main house – and deposited him on one of the four beds there. He was out again before she could even say goodnight.

* * *

Kamila woke the next morning to a sudden bright splash of light. "Rise and shine, Miss Kamila," her housemaid called as she pulled the curtains aside. "Your brother asked me to remind you that you said you'd help work the land today." She clucked her tongue as she began opening the drawers of Kamila's dresser, "It's still madness, if you ask me. A wealthy young woman like yourself working in the fields."

"It's how things are done where I'm from, Miss Celia," Kamila said as she yawned and stretched. "You should understand that." Celia had immigrated from Haiti and had a very similar background to her employer – abusive father, manual labor, four children to care for. When her husband died, she'd moved to America with her sister and her sons to seek a new life.

Celia nodded, "Yes, but I'm of color, Miss Kamila. We have to take the hardest jobs for the lowest pay; you, on the other hand, are a wealthy landowner. There's no need for you to be out there." She seemed to hear her words and her hand fluttered to her chest, her expression worrisome. "Not that this is the hardest job with the lowest pay. You know I enjoy working for you, Miss Kamila."

Kamila grinned sleepily and sat up, "I know what you meant, Miss Celia." She touched her fingers to her temples and groaned, "I'm afraid I had too much sherry last night. Would you brew some coffee, please?" Celia nodded, handing a set of work clothes to her employer before excusing herself to go down to the kitchen. Kamila was dressed by the time the woman came back to let her know the coffee was brewing, and proceeded to help her braid back her hair.

"How are your boys, Miss Celia?" Kamila asked, holding one end of a thin green ribbon as the housemaid wove it through her hair.

The woman sighed, eyes concentrating on the tendrils of hair between her fingers. "James has been sick for almost five days now. My sister says he can hardly stay awake, and his fever won't break." She tied the ribbon at the end of the braid and smoothed her fingers over it, "I worry for him."

Kamila turned away from her mirror to look Celia in the eye. "Miss Celia, why didn't you tell me sooner?" She lifted the lid of her jewelry box – the same one she'd...no, she'd stopped thinking about that long ago – and lifted the false bottom. She extracted a handful of coins and pressed them into her maid's hands. "Take the rest of the day off, Celia; take your boy to Doctor Vernon and tell him I sent you. This should cover the appointment and the medicine."

Celia was already shaking her head, "I can't take this from you, Miss Kamila. You and Mister Uberto already pay me far too much in wages." By local standards, this was true: All of their employees were people of color, who would normally be enslaved and forced to work without pay. Kamila and Uberto, however, didn't feel comfortable owning other human beings – they'd hired two housemaids and four field workers, and paid all of them twenty cents a day. Annually, they were making what the average white man made, practically unheard of in New Orleans.

Kamila forced Celia's fingers closed around the coins. "Miss Celia, I have been in this country for four years. You have been with me for three. You are not just my housemaid – you are my friend, and as good as family, and so are your boys. I insist you take this money and get him to the doctor today."

Celia's eyes began to fill with tears, and she nodded and tucked the coins into her apron pocket. "Thank you, Miss Kamila. Let me fix you a cup of coffee and then-"

"I am perfectly capable of pouring my own coffee," Kamila interrupted, waving her away, "Go." There was some more debate, but Celia finally departed after half a dozen thank yous. Once she was gone, Kamila gathered her braid and carefully rolled it into a bun, securing it with another ribbon so it wouldn't be hanging on her neck while she worked out in the hot sun. She slipped on a pair of mens shoes and made her way down to the large kitchen, where Uberto was helping himself to some of the coffee from the pot.

"Good morning, sister," he said shortly. There was still on the outs, arguing about whether or not it was time to tell the twins where they disappeared to one night of every month. Kamila thought they could handle the truth; Uberto wanted to keep it from them so they wouldn't worry about being cursed themselves.

She nodded to him, "Brother."

"Miss Nana took the twins to school," he told her, "Jessop, Hetton, and I will be in the far fields today with the sugarcane. Edward and Pierre will be in the indigo. Where are you going to work?"

She shrugged, "With the goats, I imagine, and the trees." He gave her a brief nodded and then departed, Jessop coming out of his room just in time to follow him out. Kamila watched them disappear over the hill that led to the sugarcane fields through the kitchen window, then noticed the guest quarters door popping open. The drunk stranger from the night before was shielding his eyes from the sun and stumbling across the yard. She chuckled, poured two cups of coffee, and went to meet him just as he collapsed onto the porch of the main house.

"You look like you need this," she said by way of announcement as she sat down next to him on the steps, handing him the coffee. "Have you had coffee before?"

He nodded and took a sip, grimacing, "Yes, but I find I don't have a taste for it. It does the trick, though, thank you." He took another sip and set the cup next to him, holding his head in his hands, "Have you any idea how much I have to drink to have a headache in the morning?"

"Roughly the amount that you drank last night?" She guessed, drinking from her own cup.

He looked her over with an amused smirk, then asked, "So, Signorina Italiano, what has you so dressed down this morning?" He gestured to the country skirts she wore, and the tattered white shirt that had once belonged to her brother. "If anyone in town saw you dressed that way, it would certainly cause a scandal. Mens shoes and shirt, peasant skirt, no corset," he clicked his tongue in mock disapproving.

"If anyone in town thought this scandalous," Kamila shook her head, "They would be a fool. Everyone knows that I help in the fields from time to time, and I can hardly do that in dress and petticoat. Speaking of which, Signore Bad Guy," she finished off her coffee and set the cup aside, "Would you like to earn some wages?"

"Pardon?"

"It's just that I noticed last night that you had very little currency, and said you had no home to go to." Kamila gazed out across their property, "We have more crops than we can harvest with just four men, my siblings and myself. I wouldn't be able to offer you the same wages as they make right away," she warned him, "But I could give you ten cents a day if you are willing to work in our fields. If you do good work, I will raise it to twenty."

He studied her – she felt like he was always studying her, like she was truly as interesting as he'd said she was the night before. "Why would you do such a favor for a man whose name you don't even know?"

She shrugged, picking at a loose thread on her skirts, "I was a lost soul once, and as such I can recognize another lost soul when I see one. I believe that everyone can find their way back as long as someone is willing to help them, and I would like to help you." She reached over the edge of the porch and groped around until her fingers found the large wicker basket she'd left there. "We can start small, if you like; you can work alongside me in the orchard today and, if you enjoy the work, you can stay."

"All right, then," he agreed, picking up his cup and finishing off the thin black liquid inside. He stood, hopped from the steps to the ground, and clapped his hands together. "Where is this orchard?"

"You would have seen it last night if you'd been conscious, Signore Bad Guy," Kamila teased. "It lines both sides of the road up to the plantation. Come," she waved him on, leading him down the dirt road that circled the house and then stretched out from the property. On either side of the road, there were dozens upon dozens of trees with long, soft green leaves and mounds sprouting like tumors from the branches. "Are you familiar with these?"

"Black walnut trees," he confirmed. "Though I've never seen so many of them before."

"I've always loved them," Kamila explained, walking to the closest tree and picking up a deposit of the tree – a pale green husk, slightly smaller than an orange. She pulled up one layer of her skirts and dropped the walnut into the makeshift hammock. "Only gather the ones from the ground," she told him, "It's dangerous to pull them from the tree; you could damage the branch and it won't be able to sprout anymore. Gather all that you find from the ground, though, even if it looks like something's eaten into it. We'll sort them all out later." He smiled and walked across the road to the other grouping of trees, kneeling to pick up the walnuts from the base.

They worked together in mostly silence for the next hour, as the hot Louisiana sun beat down on them from above. Kamila pushed up her sleeves, revealing her long, wiry arms as they struggled to hold up the increasingly heavy pile of walnuts in her skirt. When she thought she couldn't hold any more, the man appeared at her side with a half-filled basket. "Here," he said kindly, reaching to add her pile to his, "We'll fill it up and take it back to the house." She smiled gratefully to him and helped him transfer the nuts from her skirt to the basket.

"I'm Niklaus, by the way," he said suddenly, and she realized they hadn't exchanged names yet. "Niklaus Mikaelson."

She blushed, because she'd brought home a drunken stranger and offered him work on her property, all without knowing his name. "I'm Kamila Parisi," she replied, then stuck out her hand to shake, "Nice to meet you."

He shook her hand, obviously stifling a laugh. "You are quite the curious creature, Kamila Parisi. A man's handshake instead of a bow of the head." He stood with the basket, pulling Kamila along with him. Both of their hands were stained black and they were sweating and tired, but on the walk back to the house and for the rest of the day sorting walnuts and tending to the goats, they never seemed to run out of things to laugh about. At the end of the day, when Kamila counted ten cents out into Niklaus's hand, he told her he would stick around for a while. She didn't say it at the time, but she was happier than she'd been in years.

* * *

"Are you sure you're all right?" Niklaus asked, almost a month later as he worked next to Kamila in the indigo fields. All that was required here was to pull the leaves from the plants and put them in her apron pocket, but she was so sore and spent that she could barely manage it. The night before had been the full moon and not only had she had a tough transformation, but the pack she and Uberto now ran with had happened upon a campsite. She'd spent the entire morning running around, healing all they'd harmed, and the use of so much Power had left her exhausted.

She yawned and stretched, her shoulders popping loudly. "I just didn't sleep well last night."

"Uberto looked pretty wretched this morning, as well," Niklaus said observantly. "Were you two up all night fighting again?"

Kamila and Uberto still hadn't resolved they're disagreement about what to say to the twins, and they're fights had become more frequent. And when they weren't fighting, the hostility between them was so apparent that everyone had taken notice. She decided to take the out he offered her. "Yes," she lied, "We used to get along so well. My brother and I love each other very much, but lately...things have been difficult."

"What do you fight about?"

She couldn't tell him that, and she didn't want to lie to him more than she had to. Niklaus had quickly come to be her friend, and one of the few true ones she had. Outside of her family, Marcus and Marie, and the servants in her home, everyone else was just a pleasant acquaintance. No one else really knew her past the surface. Instead, she changed the subject. "I've never noticed that before," she pointed to the ring on the middle finger of Niklaus's left hand. It was a dark blue stone set on a polished gold band, with some kind of symbol on it that she did not recognize. "Is is a wedding ring?"

He examined the ring, his eyes softening at first but then going hard, and he shrugged it off. "It was a gift, from my mother. She gave one to each of her children."

"Where is she now, your mother?"

"Same place as yours," he said shortly, "The ground." He went back to his work and didn't say another word for the rest of the afternoon, not that Kamila minded. His comment about her mother had offended her, and for some reason she believed he'd intended it to. There had been moments like this before, when she said something offhand or asked a question that sparked a rough side of Niklaus – a dangerous side.

After they'd put the leaves in a barrel of water to soak overnight, Kamila found her voice again. "Niklaus," she called as he headed for the guest quarters. He stopped, but didn't turn. Still, she knew he was listening, "Celia and Nana are with their families, and the boys are going into town for the night. I was going to make dinner – I don't usually get to do it by myself anymore, since there's usually almost a dozen mouths to feed and Nana has to help me, but-"

"Is there a point here, Kamila?" Niklaus sighed like he was the weariest man in the world.

She cleared her throat and straightened her back, getting right to it. "I know you usually go into town for dinner, but I would like it if you stayed and ate with us tonight." There was a beat of silence, and she rushed on like the stubborn woman she was. "I know I struck a nerve with you today, and I apologize for that, but I think it would be rude for you to turn down my invitation because of it."

He did turn then, and she was surprised to find a smile on his face. "Curious creature," he said quietly, a phrase he so often used in reference to her. "You owe me no apologies, Kamila; I had a strained relationship at best with my mother, but you had no way of knowing that. And I apologize for bringing your mother into it; I know that you two were close."

Kamila tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and replied, "It's all right. I know you didn't mean anything by it. So, you will come to dinner?"

"I'd be delighted to."

She smiled, nodding, "Wonderful. It will be ready at seven."

"I'll be there with bells on, my dear."

And promptly at seven, Kamila opened the front door to find Niklaus in a crisp, clean white shirt and black dress pants with suspenders drawn over his shoulders. She didn't even know he had clothes so nice – in fact, she could only ever remember seeing him in the clothes he'd been wearing the night she discovered him at Marcus's restaurant. His hair was pushed back from his face and he was smiling at her, "Am I late?"

"Stop that," she reprimanded him teasingly, "You know you're precisely on time." She stepped away from the door so he could enter.

Except he didn't. "You know what's just occurred to me?" He said, peering through to the foyer. "I've never been in the main house."

"What?" Kamila touched her index finger to her chin, thinking, "No, you must have been. You've been with us for almost a month. Surely you've been in for lunch."

He shook his head. "We always have lunch in the fields."

"Coffee?"

"You always bring it out with you in the morning."

She frowned, "Well, I feel awful now." And she truly did. This man had become a close friend and she'd never invited him into her home; how could that be?

"You can make it up to me by being a proper lady for once," he joked, "And give me a formal invitation."

She put on a big sigh and pantomimed a wide bow, "Please, good signore, do enter."

"It would be my pleasure," he said, stepping over the threshold and into the house, looking around and taking it in. "This is a very beautiful home, Kamila. Thank you for inviting me in."

"Of course. The dining room is this way," she led him through a maze of hallways before stopping in a large room, one wall lined with windows draped in silk curtains. In the middle was a long, perfectly polished mahogany table with twelve matching chairs even placed around it, with one at each head. It was set with candles and silver, cream colored napkins and crystal glasses. Uberto was already seated at the head of the table, the twins side by side to his left, waiting patiently. "Niklaus, you've met Tasso and Brunela, yes?"

"We've crossed paths a few times," he affirmed, regarding them both with a nod.

"He told me about art," Tasso added, leaning on the table. "He told me about a man called William Ashford-"

"A man that painted a _lot_ of trees," Niklaus murmured to Kamila, so only she could hear.

"And William Vandy Flossen-"

"van der Hagen," he corrected, loud enough for the boy to hear.

Tasso continued on, hardly bothered, "And a lot of others, too. He told me about-"

"Tasso!" Uberto snapped suddenly, shocking his little brother into silence, "Don't bedevil our company with your nonsense. I apologize on behalf of my brother, signore," he told Niklaus with a bow of his head, "He's young and has not yet learned his place. I hope he hasn't been bothering you with his silly questions about _art_ and _music_." He said the words like they were poison on his lips. Kamila remembered a time, just a few years before, when he would have encouraged their brother to pursue either of these things with a passion. Back when they were poor Italian farmers. Now he wanted Tasso and Brunela both to be scholars, or doctors, or politicians.

"On the contrary," Niklaus said easily, but there was a biting undertone in his voice, "I welcome his questions. Anytime." This last word was spoken like a promise, directed at the younger boy. Kamila could see it sparked a nerve in her older brother, but he kept his mouth shut.

She took advantage of the silence and asked, "Niklaus, may I get you a glass of wine?"

"That would be lovely." He pulled out the chair directly to Uberto's right, lowering himself into it with that unshakable smile, and his eyes never leaving the man.

Kamila came back with a bottle of wine and filled Niklaus's glass, as well and Uberto's and her own. She splashed a single swallow into the glasses of her younger siblings as well before returning to the kitchen to begin serving the meal. Since her father died, she'd taken great pleasure in preparing the meals and giving each member of the family equal portions, something they'd never had when he was around. Still, she would always give the twins a little extra – it was a force of habit. She delivered their plates first, then Niklaus's and Uberto's, before finally taking a seat next to her guest with her own plate.

She knew Niklaus was not a religious person – he never accompanied them to church on Sundays – but he joined them as they said grace, bowing his head politely, his hand grasping hers. Then they ate, feasting on the arrangement of goose and brown sauce, rice and snap peas, slices of soft bread and butter that she still made once a week from her best nannies. "Kamila, this is a truly spectacular meal," Niklaus told her after a few bites. "I haven't eaten like this in years."

She hid a smile as she dabbed at her lips with her napkin, "Thank you."

"Tasso," he turned his attention to her little brother, "Did I tell you about Susannah Drury yet?" When the boy shook his head, Niklaus took in a breath, like he was remembering a lost love. "Brilliant eye, that woman had. I met her when I was in Ireland years ago, admiring the Giant's Causeway. She was there painting it – she was one of the first people ever to do that."

"What's a causeway?" Brunela asked around a mouthful of food, earning her a stern look from Uberto.

Niklaus took a sip of his wine before answering. "Most causeways are meant to be paths, raised above the road – it's hard to explain. But the Giant's Causeway is something else entirely. It's made of columns of basalt – that's a sort of volcanic rock – and some are very tall, and some are short, and they spread across the land like the footpath of a giant.. It's something everyone should see at least once in their lifetime."

"I want to see it," Brunela piped, excited. "That sounds very lovely."

"It _is_ very lovely," Niklaus confirmed. Kamila had stopped eating and drinking, and was instead just watching him. She'd always felt there was a danger living within this man, a sort of withdrawn torture that made him incapable of interacting with other people. Sure, he spoke easily enough with her, but they were both lost souls. Seeing him speak so easily with her younger brother and sister was almost heart-melting, and definitely unexpected.

A few minutes into a conversation in which Brunela tried to convince Niklaus to take them all to Ireland, he leaned toward Kamila and said very quietly, "Don't think I don't notice you staring at me." She flushed quickly and went back to her meal, picking at it until everyone else had finished and was complaining of the pains in their full stomachs. Kamila stood and collected their plates, halting by the kitchen door as she juggled them all.

"Why don't you all retire to the den? I will bring drinks and dessert."

The twins jumped up immediately, running to the other side of the table to tug on Niklaus's sleeves. "Yes, yes!" Tasso insisted, "I can show you my drawings!"

"I can show you my books!" Brunela exclaimed at the same time. Niklaus allowed himself to be pulled from the table and into the other room, Uberto close behind and berating his younger siblings for their rudeness. Kamila took the dishes into the kitchen and set them in the sink, taking her time in preparing a pot of tea. She was confused by these feelings for Niklaus – they were not romantic, as she would have expected them to be. She mostly saw him as a close friend, or a brother, but every so often she caught herself having...feelings. Feelings she had yet to have the opportunity to act on with any man. Feelings that were not proper of a "southern lady". She could only imagine how mortified she would be if he ever found out; she vowed to keep these urges locked tight within herself, never to be spoken of or acknowledge. Much like everything else in her life. Yet another secret she had to keep from him.

When the tea finished brewing, she took a few deep breaths and arranged the pot and five cups on a tray, carrying it carefully to the den. Uberto was sitting in his wing-back chair, staring in disgust as Niklaus sat on the floor with the twins, cross-legged, a sheet of drawing paper in front of him. He was hunched over, a stick of charcoal flowing above the paper in smooth, delicate lines. Beside him, Tasso was drawing something also, though his markings were more crude and unplanned. Brunela sat in front of them both, holding up a book page for them to see and, presumably, to draw. Kamila set the tray on the table, pouring a cup for Uberto before perching on the divan behind where the boys sat, looking at the drawing they were trying to replicate. It was of a woman, sitting on a rock with water in the background, ocean air whipping her long hair across her face. She was wearing a long dress that pooled at her feet, and a flower in her hair.

"What is the game you're playing?" She asked, crossing her ankles and leaning her elbows on her knees. "Whoever makes their drawing look most like the original, wins?"

Niklaus shook his head. "It's not about replication," he said absentmindedly, glancing at the original drawing before pulling a few lines over his paper. "It's about interpretation – taking this image, and making it something different, yet the same. It's the best way to develop an artist's eye."

Kamila leaned across to her brother, who was equally immersed in his work. "And you understand this, Tasso?"

"I'm ten years old, Kamila," he grumbled, "I understand things."

"Okay, okay." Kamila stood and went back to the table, pouring four more cups of tea and setting three of them on the floor before settling onto the divan again with her own, sipping delicately as she watched the drawing continue. Uberto excused himself just minutes later, having grown weary of his siblings' antics, leaving his cup behind.

Almost an hour later, they were finally finished, and they exchanged papers so they could examine each others' work. Over their shoulders, Kamila was astounded at what she saw. Niklaus's was...truly a work of art. Instead of sitting on a rock, the woman was now sitting in the sand, propped up on her arms, body twisted so she was staring out at the water with a mournful expression. The flower in her hair was wilted, petal falling and catching in the wind. There was such detail, from the grains of sand to the ocean waves, to the frays at the bottom of her skirt. She looked so real, so full of sorrow, that it broke Kamila's heart.

Tasso's, on the other hand, was a little cruder, but still surprising. In his drawing, the woman was still sitting on the rock but she had her knees pulled up to her chest, one arm wrapped around them. The other arm was extended and, in her open palm, she held the flower that had been in her hair. Though it was a child's drawing, Kamila could see the potential in it – the way she could recognize each aspect of the drawing for what it was meant to be, the way she could feel what her brother had been attempting to translate with his charcoal.

"These are both beautiful works of art," she said sincerely, reaching past them to pick up both pieces of paper. "I am going to have them both framed and hung in the foyer." Brunela hopped up and moved to the divan to study the drawings as well, coming to the same conclusion with a nod of her head. Tasso smiled triumphantly, thrusting a fist into the air, while Niklaus just smirked and brushed the charcoal from his fingers.

Kamila gently placed the papers on her end table, then put one hand on either of her siblings' shoulders. "And now, little ones, it's time for bed." Typical noises of complaints followed but were shushed as she pushed the twins toward the staircase. They went up with dragging feet, calling their goodbyes to their guest before finally disappearing.

Niklaus laughed as they went, finally picking up the cup of tea that had gone stone cold. He gulped it down anyway. "I like your younger siblings," he announced, pulling himself up to sit on the divan, "They're almost as clever as you."

"I'm the only mother they've ever known," Kamila told him, putting all of the cups back on the tray and lifting it to her hip, "Naturally they have picked up some of my better habits. Please excuse me while I return this to the kitchen," she said of the tray, "Can I get you anything else to drink?"

"I wouldn't object to another glass of wine," he smiled, leaning his head against the back of the divan.

Kamila nodded and made her way to the kitchen, placing the tray on the counter and opening the door of their wine cupboard. When she selected a bottle and closed the door, she was shocked to find Uberto standing at her side. She gasped loudly, almost dropping the bottle but recovering quickly. Animal reflexes. The thought almost made her laugh. "Uberto, you startled me."

He was in no mood for polite exchanges. "Why do you encourage them?"

Her forehead wrinkled in confusion and she walked toward the counter, setting the bottle down. "I don't know what you mean."

"You know exactly what I mean," he countered. "The twins – why do you encourage these ridiculous ideas they have?"

She rolled her eyes, "If Tasso wants to be an artist, I want him to be an artist. If Brunela wants to travel, I want her to travel."

"Tasso will be a scholar and Brunela will be a wife," her brother barked, stepping close and grabbing her arm, forcing her to turn and face him. "I have worked too hard to make this life for us; I won't have them throw it away on a lower-class existence."

"They will be whatever they want to be," Kamila glared up at him. "And might I remind you, brother, that you did not make this life alone; I have been there every step of the way. I am just as responsible for our success as you are, and I have no problem with our brother and sister pursuing their passions, so why do you?"

"Why must you always undermine me?!" He was shouting now, stepping closer still and forcing her back against the counter. "I don't want to tell them about the curse, you do. I want them to hold our family status, you don't. Do you do this just to enrage me, sister?"

She put both hands on his chest and shoved him back, "Lower you voice, Uberto; we still have company."

"I will not be told how to behave in my own house!" His voice boomed, taking Kamila by surprise and causing her to lose control of her Power for a brief moment. Behind her, the cork burst from the bottle of wine and ricocheted around the room before rolling to a stop near the door. Uberto didn't see this as a loss of control, however; he saw it as an attack. "You would use your abominable Power against me?" He spat, and in a flash his hand made a fist around her throat. Uberto had always been strong from work in the fields, but he'd become even stronger since his transformation; he lifted her clear off the ground.

She was too astounded to think straight. Had she been, she would have just used her Power to force him away, to create a barrier between their bodies. But this was her brother – the one who'd always been there for her, the one she loved dearly – and she couldn't imagine him hurting her, so she couldn't think to react. "Uberto," she gasped, her throat crushed under his hand, "_Ti prego, fratello_." But she saw the wolf in his eyes, knew his animal instincts had taken over; he would kill her within moments without even realizing.

"I'm going to have to ask you to release the lady." Niklaus appeared in the doorway, calm and collected and walking toward them at a leisurely pace.

"Niklaus, no," Kamila managed to croak. She was Uberto's sister and he was doing this to her; she could only imagine what he would do to a near-stranger in this state.

Still, Niklaus continued forward. "Uberto, let her down."

Uberto shifted his body, throwing out his free hand to grab for Niklaus. Too quick to follow, Niklaus had Uberto's arm in his grasp, twisting it painfully to one side before using it as leverage to pull the man closer, causing him to lose his grip on Kamila. She collapsed to the ground and sucked in several deep breaths, rubbing her throat and watching the scene unfold before her. Niklaus had Uberto in the grip he'd had her in, fingers around his throat, lifted off the ground. He wasn't as wide-built as her brother, muscles not as define, and it was hard for her to contemplate how he was able to lift the man a foot off the ground.

Was Niklaus like them? Was he a wolf as well? To Kamila, this was the only thing that made sense, but at the same time made none at all. The wolves of New Orleans ran in a pack – he would have been among them. Besides, she'd seen him poring over a book in the guest quarters as she made her way to the woods the night before, hardly looking like he was in the pain of transition. Still, the way he held her brother was not natural. Not completely human.

She could see Uberto struggling for air, his face growing dark red, his lips purpling. Niklaus was staring at him with dark, hungry eyes – eyes that looked different, somehow. Red around the edges, like veins protruding from beneath the skin. "You are a smug bastard," he was saying in a low voice that, before her transformation, Kamila wouldn't have been able to hear. She could see something familiar in her brother's eyes: The life leaving them.

Without thinking, she put out her hand and concentrated her energy. In a flash, Niklaus flew across the room and hit the far wall with a _thud_, and Uberto's back hit the opposite wall so hard that the glass of the window shattered behind him. He was still staring at her, angry, but he picked himself up and left the room quickly.

Niklaus rubbed the back of his head as he slid back up the wall, getting to his feet. The red veins around his eyes slowly sunk back into his face, leaving no trace that they'd ever been there. He looked stunned, but still curious. He walked across the room, helped Kamila to her feet, and grabbed the wine bottle from the counter. "It seems," he said, breathing heavily, "That we have both been keeping some secrets. So," he took a gulp straight from the bottle and then handed it to her, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

He showed her his eyes, his fangs, the way his skin healed quickly after being cut. He told her about his blood and how it could heal, how he could make others like him, how he could walk in the daylight because of the ring on his finger. He was called a vampire. Kamila had only heard of them in horror tales. She showed him some examples of her Power, then told him of her monthly transformations. She told him about how she'd triggered the curse when she'd killed her father, and how Uberto had changed soon after. Niklaus knew something about werewolves and witches and he filled in facts even she didn't know, and she lapped up the knowledge like a starving stray. He told her he was old – over eight hundred years, in fact – and that, contrary to how she'd come to know him, he wasa very bad man. She wasn't sure if she didn't believe him, or she just didn't care.

They stayed up the entire night, sitting on the roof of the guest quarters, going through three bottles of wine as they exchanged secrets. The sun rose as Kamila told him about Nature Herself visiting her, bestowing the gift of magick on her. The light came over the horizon and shined brightly in her eyes, and Niklaus seemed to focus on them. "Your eyes weren't green before you became a witch, were they?"

Her hand fluttered to her eyes, fingers touching them delicately. It had been weeks before she'd noticed, but it was true – after her encounter with the Spirit, her dark brown eyes had turned green. "No, they weren't. How did you know?"

"They change," he said, still watching them intently with his own pale gray orbs. "They're always green, mind you, but the shade changes. They match whatever natural green you're around; it's quite fascinating. I've always wondered about it, and I guess now I know."

"I never knew that," she said, awed. "It's sort of wonderful and frightening at the same time." She tipped the wine bottle and drained the last of it, shaking it before letting it roll down the roof. "Any more secrets you'd care to share, Niklaus Mikaelson?"

"Many," he said immediately, "And I wish I could tell you each and every one of them, but that's been known to come back and work against me." He finally looked away, squinting out at the skyline, "I will tell you this, though: I am quite well-off."

"What do you mean?"

"Financially," he clarified. "I am a very wealthy man."

This, after everything she'd heard that night, surprised Kamila more than anything. "You're wealthy, yet you've spent the past month working your fingers to the bone for ten cents a day?"

He leaned back against the roof, leaning on his elbows. "The night you met me, I'd just sent my sister away; I suppose I just needed the company."

"Or needed to feel human," she suggested.

He snorted, shaking his head. "I never long for humanity; it's beneath me."

"So you say." He gave her an unreadable look and she couldn't tell if she'd angered or impressed him. She cleared her throat and asked tentatively, "You said you needed to be invited into my home before you could enter, yes?"

"Yes."

"And now that you've been invited in, you can enter as you please?"

"Yes."

She swallowed and looked away. "I hate to ask this," and she did, "But you wouldn't...you wouldn't hurt my family, would you? I saw the way you were looking at Uberto last night; you might have killed him if I hadn't done something."

"No harm will come to Tasso or Brunela from me, I give you my word," he vowed, voice sincere. "Kamila, I need you to understand something: I do not have many friends. In eight hundred years, I've found that they just become a burden. But you," he looked her over, "There's something different about you. I would never hurt anyone you loved so much as your young siblings."

"And Uberto?" She asked shakily.

He sighed and sat back up, "I can make no promises with Uberto. If he harms you again, I will intervene."

"He won't—"

"You don't know that, Kamila," he contradicted. "A part of the werewolf gene is anger and violence; it's probably why your father was the way he was."

She couldn't deny that Uberto had grown increasingly more angry since his first transformation, but the violence was very new. "I have the werewolf gene, and I'm not like that. Neither are Tasso and Brunela."

"There's a mental factor to it, as well," he explained. "You were born a pure soul; that's why Nature gave you the gift of magick. I imagine the same is true of Tasso and Brunela: A boy who just wants to make art, and a girl who just wants to see the world. But even the best people can go bad, you just never know."

Kamila mulled this over, chewing on her bottom lip for a few silent moments. Then she leaned back, laying out on the roof, and Niklaus laid back so they were side by side, elbows touching. It sent an electric shock through her, and she was surprised to find that those feelings she'd started to experience earlier the night before remained, even after find that the man she'd come to call a friend was, for all intents and purposes, dead.

"Will you stay?" She asked a long while later, after the sun had risen fully in the sky.

"Hm?" He asked, having dozed off in that time.

Kamila let her head fall to the side so she could look at him. "Will you stay here at Parisi Piantagione, continue working the fields?"

He rubbed his eyes, trying to focus his attention. "I fear I've grown bored of this manual labor. I think I might return to the city."

"Oh."

He laughed then, and it was a tired but still carried all its usual charm. "Don't sound so disappointed, Signorina Italiano."

"You're telling me you're leaving, Signore Bad Guy," she countered, voice flat. "I feel I have a right to be disappointed."

"What if I told you that you would still see me every day?"

"I would say you were lying," she sat up and started easing herself down the roof until her legs dangled over the edge. "I spend all my days working on the land, and you said yourself you've grown tired of labor. What reason would you have to come here?" She let go of the shingles and dropped the eight feet to the ground, landing painlessly on soft grass with bare feet. She gathered the three empty wine bottles and brushed her hair away from her face. "Well, Signore Mikaelson," she called up to him diplomatically, "It has been nice to know you, and I hope things turn out well for you in life." From atop the house, he was studying her that way he always did. She could practically hear the words in her head. _Curious creature_.

By the time Kamila had gone inside, bathed, put on her work clothes, and came back out, he was gone.

* * *

The next day, Kamila spent the entire day expecting Niklaus to show up somewhere – in the fields, at the house, on a roof – but he never showed up. She felt foolish. Of course she wouldn't see him every day; she'd been right when she said he was lying. If he was truly a wealthy man with no need to work, why would he keep coming around? Still, she waited every day for the next week – he never came.

Until two weeks later, when she was making her way back to the house in the dark after helping one of her nannies through a difficult delivery. She was exhausted, covered in dirt and blood and membrane, and could barely move her feet forward. She made her way slowly up the steps and laid her hand on the knob of her front door, then a voice stopped her.

"Don't take this the wrong way," he said, "But you look awful."

As if she wasn't already aware of this. Her clothes were filthy, her arms and legs were covered in the filmy, gummy grime, and her hair was loose and matted to her face. "Three weeks absent, and that is what you have to say to me, Niklaus?" He was sitting in a chair in a dark corner of the porch, dressed in a nice suit, one leg crossed over the other. "Well, excuse me if I'm not invested in this reunion."

"Ooh," he stood, "You're angry with me. I understand, and I deserve it, but I had some business to take care of up north before I could come back."

"For three weeks?" She regarded him incredulously.

"I owe you an explanation, and a proper apology; I know that." He crossed the distance between them and looked her over, smiling at the state of her. "If you go inside and get cleaned up, I will take you someplace to make it up to you."

Kamila sighed and weighed her options. On the one hand, she was overjoyed to see Niklaus again – she'd missed her friend dearly in the weeks he'd been away – but on the other, she was hurt by his disappearance, and the way he was now acting like everything was just fine, like he'd never left her. Niklaus could see this on her face and he said, "Just give me this one night. If you're still mad at me in the morning, I'll leave and never come back."

"And if I'm not?" She challenged.

"Then I'll make good on my word," he said with a bow of his head. "You will see me every day, for as long as we can tolerate each other."

She thought on it for a minute longer, then gave in reluctantly. "Ten minutes," she told him, then left him outside while she went in to get ready. She poured hot water into the basin in her room and used a cloth to wipe herself clean, changed into a "proper" dress, and covered herself with powdered perfume to mask whatever smell of birthing goats still clung to her. When she came out, exactly ten minutes later, Niklaus was holding a bouquet of strange flowers. Like roses, but not.

"Apology number one," he said, handing her the bouquet, "Camellias, all the way from Asia. They're your namesake flowers," he plucked a pale purple one from the stem and tucked it behind her ear.

She breathed in their fragrance, ran her fingers over their soft petals, and couldn't help but smile. "Apology number one, accepted."

He nodded, then gestured out. "Apology number two," he said as a horse and carriage came around the house on the dirt road. "I warn you, we'll be out late."

"Apology number two, accepted," she told him as she allowed him to help her into the carriage. She thought they'd be going into the city, but the ride was far too long and Niklaus wouldn't allow her to look out the windows. When the carriage finally came to a stop, Niklaus pushed open the door and hopped out, extending a hand to her.

"Apology number three," he smiled. When she emerged from the carriage, she found they were high on a hill that overlooked Lake Pontchartrain. From the back of the cart, Niklaus unpacked a square wicker basket and a rough wool blanket, handing them to Kamila. He then walked around and looked their driver in the eye, catching his gaze almost hypnotically. "You will return for us in exactly three hours."

"I will return for you in exactly three hours," the driver repeated, then blinked a few times and looked forward, urging his horses on. Niklaus walked Kamila to the edge of the hill, laying out the blanket and sitting down on it, motioning for her to do the same. He then took the light cloth from the top of the basket and extracted two candles, burying then a little ways into the ground and lighting them. Then he unpacked a bottle of sherry and a tin box of chocolates, putting them between himself and Kamila.

"You don't intend to seduce me, do you, Niklaus?" Kamila asked nervously. Though she'd had those sorts of feelings about him, she found the idea of actually following through made her nervous.

He made a thoughtful noise at the back of his throat and shook his head, "Afraid not, my dear. I just thought you'd enjoy something quite the opposite of your daily life. Trapped in that big house, completely surrounded by animals and crops, burdened by responsibility for your family and your chores. But out here, you're free to see the stars and feel the ocean, drink sherry and eat chocolates and think only of yourself for a while."

"That _does_ sound wonderful," she mused, finally putting down the bouquet of flowers and plucking one of the chocolates from the box. It melted on her tongue, coating it in slick, sweet substance. She washed it down with some of the sherry and the combination of the two was intoxicating in and of itself. "Apology number three, accepted."

Niklaus picked up the bottle of sherry and took a pull from it. "Does this mean you forgive me?"

She looked out at the water and sighed. "Why were you gone so long, Niklaus? What were you really doing all that time?"

"It's just as I said," he insisted, "I went north. My brother lives in New York and he worries if I don't check in with him from time to time. I hadn't intended on staying so long," he shrugged, "But he seemed desperate for company. He doesn't make friends easily."

"Is he like you, your brother? I mean, is he a vampire as well?"

Niklaus nodded, "Yes, he is. But I'd rather not waste time talking about my family; I'd rather have an answer to my question. Am I forgiven?"

Kamila gave him a begrudging shrug, "Oh, I suppose. Will I really see you every day?"

"Until we tire of each other."

"But we won't always have to travel so far, will we?"

"Only if you want to."

"That sounds lovely to me." They drank to their friendship, to their secrets, to their future. They spent three hours looking out at the lake and up at the stars, talking, not talking. When the carriage arrived to reclaim them, exactly three hours after dropping them off, they rode back to the plantation with heavy eyelids. Niklaus saw her off with a soft kiss on the cheek, like the ones she exchanged with her siblings, and promised to see her the next day. And he did. They spent the day in the barn with the kid, hand-feeding her when she didn't take to her mother's teet. The day after that, they went to Marcus's restaurant for dinner. Every day for the next five years, they were together. They became more than close – they became each others' first and only best friends.

Then, just after her twenty-fifth birthday, Kamila grew ill. Her chest felt heavy and her lungs grew tight, and breathing became too difficult to manage on her own. She was sent to an institution for others like her – others afflicted with a virus called tuberculosis, with an outlook that spelled death for her. Even still, she saw Niklaus every day. He rarely left her bedside, in fact, even when the masked nurses insisted Kamila was contagious and he was putting himself in danger. He knew he couldn't catch the virus, but even if he could, Kamila wondered if he would have left. In five years, she'd seen him do some terrible things to innocent people, but he never treated her with anything but kindness, even when she'd disappointed him by refusing to take part in his devious acts.

He tried everything to help her. He paid for all the best doctors and medications, but they failed. He sent for witches, but none of them were strong enough. He even fed her his own blood, but it was only meant to heal physical injuries, not illnesses. He asked her to heal herself, but her Power wasn't meant to be used like that; she could only heal others. Like her victims in her early years as a wolf, Kamila could feel herself fading. She knew she would be among them soon, begging their forgiveness at heaven's gates. She didn't want to die, but it was out of her hands.

"Please," Niklaus begged in a whisper as Kamila entered the worst of it. She was wheezing her breaths, suffocating slowly. He sat at her side and held her hand between both of his, not moving to eat or sleep for days. "Please stay with me, Kamila; you're all I have."

"I wouldn't say 'all,'" a new voice said – the voice of a dark-haired man with a pointed chin and soft eyes. Kamila saw him through a haze, the sickness making her eyesight clouded and dim, but he was handsome, and bore a slight resemblance to Niklaus.

Niklaus didn't even spare him a glance, but asked, "What are you doing here, Elijah?"

"I've come to collect you, brother," the other man, Elijah, replied.

"So this," Kamila struggled to make her words sound light and playful, as it did before, but they took so much energy that they just came out sickly and sad, "Is the...brother...from New York. Ni...klaus...never mentioned...how handsome you were."

Elijah smiled down at her, "Well, his letters did you no justice. You are quite the eye-catcher yourself."

"Yes," she said, rolling her eyes, "With my...death face, and...matted hair."

Niklaus finally looked up at his brother, "I'm not going anywhere, Elijah. Surely you can understand why."

"I do understand," the other man said sympathetically, "And I wouldn't ask unless it was dire."

"No?"

"Of course not. Witnessing you so invested in the life of someone else, it's something I never thought I would see." Kamila's eyes were growing heavy – she was so tired all of the time these days – but she fought to follow the conversation. "I know that you care for the girl, Niklaus, but we must go."

"Why?!" Niklaus roared, jumping up and getting close to his brother's face, "Why must I abandon the only true friend I've ever had?!"

"Mikael." One word and the atmosphere around them changed completely. When Niklaus said nothing, Elijah continued, "Our father, Niklaus, he is near. If we don't leave within the hour, he will be upon us by tomorrow."

Niklaus looked from his brother to Kamila, obviously torn. But there was fear in his eyes and she could see it; it was something she'd never seen in him before. He'd told her of his father in their second year of friendship, and she knew what would happen if he caught up to them. "Go," she put as much authority into her voice as she could manage. "You've done...more than enough...for me. Go now. Be...safe."

Elijah grabbed his brother by the arm and pulled, but Niklaus resisted. There were tears in his eyes, but he had command of them; they would not fall. "I can't just leave her," he said in a whisper.

"Brother, you must," Elijah gave him another hard pull. "Niklaus, we will send for Myra. She can be here within three days; she will be able to heal the girl."

"That witch will do me no favors, brother," Niklaus objected, "You know that."

"Yes, but I am still in good standing with her; she will do it for me." Again, he attempted to pull his brother toward the door, "Niklaus, we must go _now_."

Niklaus broke free and sat at the edge of Kamila's bed, taking her hands in his again. "Kamila, I need you to keep fighting, do you understand? In three days, a very Powerful witch will come and she will heal you, and then I will come back for you. I give you my word. Now you have to give me your word that you will _fight_."

"Pr...omise," Kamila struggled to give him a smile, but she was so very tired. Niklaus leaned forward and kissed her forehead, smoothed her hair away from her forehead, and then finally allowed himself to be pulled away by his brother. They took a few steps, but then stopped.

"Mikael will come through New Orleans – he will have tracked us here," Elijah said, glancing at Kamila. "She knows you. You must compel her to forget."

Niklaus considered this, losing his control now as a single tear rolled down his face. "No," he finally said definitively, "No, she will tell him nothing."

"And if he compels her to tell him?"

"I said no, Elijah."

Elijah clearly wanted to argue this, but they were losing precious time. He conceded, taking his brother's arm once more and turning away from the dying girl. She watched them take a few human steps, then disappear with the extraordinary speed vampires possessed.

The brothers left the institution and got into a waiting carriage. The driver whipped his horses and they took off into a trot that quickly escalated to a gallop. After an hour, they stopped so Elijah could send a letter off the Myra, a witch that lived to the west. Then they continued on, traveling for days before settling in a no-name town in the northwest.

Ten days after leaving New Orleans, Elijah received a response from Myra, via a spell. While he and Niklaus sat in front of a fireplace one evening, the fire began to crackle and spit until a crumpled paper ball rolled from among the logs. Elijah opened it and, after running his eyes over the words, hung his head and handed it off to his brother. Myra had made in to New Orleans in three days, as they'd estimated.

Kamila had already been dead for two.

* * *

**A/N:  
**_All right, this painfully long back-story has finally come to a close. I intentionally left some gaps in it regarding Klaus's behavior with others because 1) they will be covered throughout the rest of the story in dialogue and flashbacks, and 2) come on, this monster is already 10,000+ words. I didn't want to make you all hate me even more._**  
**_In the next chapter, we will pick back up on the TVD plotline, the chapters will (hopefully) be much shorter, and Klaus will be more in character to what you're all used to, but a little different.__**  
**__Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed and favorited so far! It means a lot to me!_


	4. Mystic Falls, 2013

_**Present Day – Mystic Falls, VA**_

They were at Klaus's mansion in a matter of minutes, away from the prying eyes of Elena and Bonnie and whoever else might stumble upon them. Klaus meant to let Kamila go the second they crossed the threshold, but his body had other ideas; even when they came to a full stop, he found he still had his arms firmly around her. He was embracing her.

In return, she wove her wiry arms around his sides and flattened her palms against his back, resting her chin on his shoulder and squeezing him tightly. "Well, I missed you too, cher. But you know how much I always hated that vampire-speed thing; it makes my stomach go all inside-out."

His hands moved to her shoulders suddenly, gripping them and pushing her to arm's length so he could look her over. "What kind of trick is this?" He demanded to know, "Who are you?"

"I know it's been a while, Niklaus," she said in that new, strange New Orleans accent, "But I can't believe you'd forget. It's me – Kamila."

"Kamila Parisi died," he interrupted her, voice a mix of anger and cautious optimism. "She died 186 years ago. TB." He let her go and took a step back, "And even if she'd somehow managed to survive, she was human; she'd be long dead by now. So once more, who are you?"

She chose her words carefully, knowing his shock and how it could quickly turn to a violent rage. Her eyes fluttered shut and she took in a deep breath, looking for a way to convince him. "You gave me a gift once," she said slowly, "A painting. You told me I must never show it to anyone, because it was a painting of your greatest secret and if anyone was ever to discover the meaning in it, you would lose everything. It was of a woman," her eyes were still closed, as if she were summoning the image on the backs of her eyelids, "A beautiful, older woman with pale blonde hair, dressed in all black with a veil over her eyes. She was sitting in a chair, looking down at a small child who was bowing at her feet. His hands were red.

"You gave it to me for my twenty-third birthday," she finally opened her eyes and took off her wide-brimmed sunhat, placing it on the arm of the couch. "And made me cast a spell on it so it looked like something different to anyone else who saw it. When I asked you what it meant, you told me that I was the only person in the world you'd ever told this secret to, even though you weren't actually telling me."

Klaus gasped, eyes glazing over as he fought back tears. He fell onto the couch, staring up at her in disbelief. "But how? Myra told me you'd died before she got to New Orleans. That witch!" He slammed his hand down on his coffee table, causing it to collapse in on itself. "That liar! I will hunt down all of her descendants and kill the lot of them; how dare she cross me? If I had known you'd survived-"

"You would've come back for me." Kamila swept her skirt under her and sat down next to him, putting a hand on his arm to calm him. He quickly covered her hand with his own and turned his head to look at her. "Niklaus, Mikael had already reached New Orleans by the time Myra got to me; he recognized her, knew she'd worked for you and Elijah in the past. When she finished healing me, he came to the institution and questioned both of us, threatened us and our families. He compelled us both, found out that you and I had spent the last five years together and he knew that I'd meant something to you, so he kept eyes on New Orleans.

"I told Myra to tell you that I was dead," she said softly, apologetic, "So you would never come back for me and risk getting caught by Mikael. And I never came looking for you because I thought one of his people might track me and you'd get caught. Then about a year ago, I heard that Mikael was finally dead, so I came back for you."

Klaus was breathing deeply, his hand growing tighter around hers. "I didn't need you to protect me."

"Aw, sugar," with her free hand, she reached up and pushed a curl out of his face, "Yes, you did. You always were a stubborn fool, and I wasn't gonna be the reason you got yourself killed."

He looked like he wanted to be angry, but he couldn't summon the emotion. Instead, he pulled her to him again and held her tightly to his chest, burying his face in the crook of her neck and breathing in the familiar smell of cinnamon and pears, a curious scent that came with her magick. "But how are you still twenty-five years old?" He breathed against her skin.

"I met another witch who'd been given Power by Nature, like me," Kamila hugged him back as tightly as he held her, murmuring the words into the soft fabric of his sweater. "She was three hundred; she taught me to channel the earth to stay whatever age I choose." Her strong, playful resolve chose that moment to break and she found herself crying against his shoulder, holding him tighter still. "Niklaus, I missed you so much."

That was twice in less than twenty-four hours that he'd found himself thinking "if only my enemies could see me now". He shouldn't be showing affection for this woman – he couldn't afford it. She would become his weakness – she would make him vulnerable to everyone that wanted to hurt him – and more than likely, she would be caught in the crossfire and killed. Still, he couldn't help himself. "I missed you, too," he told her, "You have no idea how much."

"Please tell me you've made at least one other real friend in the last 186 years," she gave a pitiful laugh through her tears.

"None that come to mind," he answered honestly.

"But you're in love."

"What?" He withdrew in surprise, looking her over. He laughed, trying to make it sound casual, but didn't quite pull it off. "What makes you say that?"

She shrugged, wiping at her eyes, "My Power's developed a lot over the years. I can sense things now." She gave him an indescribable look, "Then there's some things you don't need Power to sense; there are some things that the person who once knew you better than anyone can just look at you and know." She sniffled, then gave him a sly wink, "Who is she?"

"I don't want to talk about her, or anyone else in this town," he told her, reaching for the decanter on the end table. "I want to have a drink with my oldest friend, and find out what it is she wants from me?"

She took the glass he handed her, regarding him with a furrowed brow. "What makes you think I came because I want something? I missed you, Niklaus."

"I believe you," he insisted, pouring himself a drink. "But 'there are some things that the person who once knew you better than anyone can just look at you and know,' and I'm not as patient as I used to be. So let's just cut to the chase."

Kamila reached out, cupping the side of his face, "What's happened to you?"

"Too much to tell," he sighed. "I was a bad man when you knew me, Kamila, and believe me when I say that I have only gotten worse."

"Mm, Signore Bad Guy," she recalled, voice echoing as she drank from her glass. "But I still want to know, and I hope you'll tell me."

"First, you tell me why you've come. Mikael has been dead for over a year, so why now?"

She drew in a deep breath, sighed, and then surprised him by smiling, "Never could hide anything from you, could I?" She held out the glass for a refill and he obliged, then she made a request that made Klaus question his hearing. "I know about your hybrids, Niklaus – werewolves that die with your blood in them, and come back as both. I want you to turn me into one."

He drew back, eyes wide. "Why would you want that?"

She laughed, "Your pride and joy, and you're surprised when someone wants to be one."

"There are things you don't know about my hybrids," he told her, putting the decanter back on the table. "Besides that, there is another component to the transition – the blood of the doppelganger. And my charming sister destroyed the last of my supply out of spite."

Kamila drained her second glass of scotch and put the glass down on the floor, scooting a little closer and lowering her voice. "Are you telling me that you, Niklaus Mikaelson – master of the Plan B and Plan C and Plans D, E, and F – didn't stash a vial or two away somewhere for emergencies?"

He looked away, "I didn't quite have that foresight."

"You're lying," she said immediately. "Since when do we lie to each other."

"It's been almost two hundred years, Kamila," he still wouldn't look at her. "You can't expect me to be the same person you knew. I'll lie to you if it suits me, and I'll deny you whatever is mine to deny." He bit down on the inside of his cheek – a bad habit he'd been trying to break for centuries – and glanced at her. "Telling me truthfully, why would you want to be a hybrid?"

She leaned back against the couch, smoothing her hands over her long white skirt, "I don't, necessarily. I want to be a vampire." Klaus's eyebrows rose, but she continued before he could speak. "When you become a vampire, everything is amplified. Your personality, your emotions, your talents. If I become a vampire," she smiled, "Imagine what that will do for my Power."

He was already shaking his head, "You can't be both a vampire and a witch; Nature won't allow it."

"Ah, see," she held up a finger in contradiction, "You know that three hundred year old witch I was telling you about? She explained some things to me. When you're born with magick and you're turned into a vampire, it tips the balance of Nature, so Nature has to even it out. It strips away the Power and leaves an undead husk. But I wasn't born into magick; I was chosen and it was given to me. That alone tipped the balance, and it is no longer Nature's to be taken back." Her smile grew wider, "If I was turned, I would keep my Power, and it would be amplified."

Oddly enough, it made perfect sense to Klaus; he wondered why he'd never considered such a thing before. "And why do you need to amplify your Power?" He asked.

She suddenly became distant, reluctant to talk. She picked her glass up off the floor and said vaguely, "I have my reasons."

There was a long beat of silence between them. Finally, Klaus said, "Let's pretend that I do have a few vials of the doppelganger's blood hidden away: If I give you what you want, turn you, you will owe me some of that Power. You must be willing to help me in my endeavors."

"We always had an arrangement, Niklaus; I won't be caught up in your schemes."

"I don't give something for nothing; if I do this, your Power is tethered to me-"

"I will not be your dog!" She shouted, voice echoing around the room and causing the glass in the windows to crack but not shatter. It seemed that some of the anger of the werewolf gene had finally found its way to her. She jumped up and grabbed her hat from the arm of the couch, shoving it over her head so forcefully that it flattened her hair against her forehead. "You know the other appeal to being a hybrid? Living forever. With Mikael gone, we could have picked up where we left off. Remember the deal? We promised to see each other every day until we couldn't stand each other any more; I've wanted that life back for so long. But you just want to take advantage of my Power – something you swore you'd never do."

His jaw tightened as he watched her pace back and forth. "Well, as I said, Signorina Italiano," he said in a surprisingly calm voice, "I have changed."

"Fine," she barked. She reached into her purse and extracted a silver card, her name and phone number printed in white ink. She tossed it at him, "And for the record, it's Signora; I married ninety-seven years ago." She started toward the door, then stopped and turned around. "I know about the hunter's mark – I know that you're searching for the Cure, and trust me, you're biting off more than you can chew. You're going to need me, eventually. Something big is coming and I just might be the only hope you have." Then with stomping feet and a slamming door, she was gone.

Klaus picked up the card and smoothed it between his hands. **Kamila Ross**, it read, **(504) 337-8102**. He wanted to call her back almost immediately after she left, to tell her that he'd been a fool and of course he wouldn't demand anything of her, but he was too proud. Still, he entered her number into his phone and stared at it for a good long while before clearing the screen and tossing the phone on the broken coffee table.

He ran a hand over his face and pinched the bridge of his nose; he needed a distraction. Distraction, distraction – what could he do? And then he remembered: There was a young hunter-in-training that needed a few more vampire kills under his belt. Perhaps he could be of some assistance with that. He stood, slid his phone into his back pocket, and started for the Gilbert family lake house.

Kamila, on the other hand, didn't go far. She collected her bags from the old pickup she'd driven in to town and gave three sharp knocks to a heavy oak door. It swung open after a moment, revealing a handsome man she knew only from photographs and rumors. She gave no indication that she knew him, however. "Hey," she said with a bright smile, turning up the southern charm, "This is the boarding house, right? The Salvatore boarding house?"

"Um, yeah," the vampire that stood in the threshold answered, glancing over his shoulder, "But we're, um-"

"Temporarily booked up for a supernatural convention?" His eyes narrowed in confusion. Just then, a young blonde woman flounced down the stairs behind him and took one look at her, stopping cold in her tracks.

"I know you," she said, her voice carrying a hard English accent. Her face was twisted in confusion, and she took a few steps closer to the door. "My brother's drawn you before. When he undaggered me, just before the civil war, he drew you all the time. Who are you?"

"Ah, so you're the infamous Rebekah," Kamila smiled and extended a hand. "I'm Kamila Ross, an old, old friend of Niklaus's, and I'm in need of a room."

"Listen, I don't know what Klaus is up to," Stefan Salvatore said with a tired sigh, "But I'm not in the mood for any more of his games."

Kamila pulled her hand back and frowned. "I said old friend, not old cohort; Klaus's business with y'all has nothing to do with me. I just need a favor from that stubborn old man and a place to stay until he makes up his mind." No one said anything for a long time, so she added, "I can pay you double what any of the room and board would have normally cost. Triple, if that'll help clinch it." She reached into her purse and pulled out a roll of money, thrusting it into Stefan's hand, "There's about six hundred dollars there, and I can always get more."

He looked over his shoulder at Rebekah, who was still looking the woman over like she had three heads. "I don't know," he said slowly.

"I'm human, all right?" Kamila sighed, starting to feel exhausted. "Granted I'm a werewolf and a witch, but I'm human all the same. I gotta eat, I gotta sleep, I gotta take a shower every once and a while. I'm not interested in whatever politics y'all have got going on here," she promised, "I just wanna stay with some folks that aren't likely to put a silver bullet through my heart while I'm sleeping."

Stefan looked down at the wad of cash – something he didn't really need, to be honest – and back at the woman. She had honest eyes, and she definitely wasn't like any of the other lackeys Klaus had sent after them in the past. "All right," he finally said, albeit reluctantly, "Up the stairs, take a left, fourth door on your right. But if you cause any trouble," his voice grew low and dangerous, "I'll deliver that silver bullet personally."

"I'm sure you will, cher," Kamila agreed, hardly bothered. She picked up her suitcase and squeezed past him, pinching his cheek as she went. "I'm sure you will." She twirled in a circle, taking in the size and décor of the place with a look of approval, "Very nice. Oh, and I'm afraid I need to ask y'all one small favor."

"Oh," Rebekah scoffed, arms crossed over her chest, "And what might that be?"

Kamila lifted one hand in a closed fist, and when she opened it there was a pop and a bright flash of pale blue light that sent both vampires stumbling back and rubbing at their eyes. "You won't tell anyone that I'm staying here."

Rebekah and Stefan both straightened their backs and looked past her, almost as if she were invisible. "We won't tell anyone that you're staying here."

"Thank you kindly," she said with a little curtsy, then hurried up the stairs before they came out of their spelled stupor. She needed Klaus to think she was far away – absence makes the heart grow fonder, and all that. While the events she'd foreseen began unfolding in Mystic Falls, she would be right under his nose to witness it all, and when he finally needed her, she would be there.

**A/N:**  
_So a little mix of Old Klaus and New Klaus - I tried to weave in my own characterstics of him and still keep him somewhat in-character. What did you think?  
Also, in case you hadn't noticed, I'm not a great editor, so please bear with me. :)  
Also also, I _really_ hope that phone number isn't someone's real phone number in New Orleans. If it is, I'M SORRY!_


	5. Our Small, Sad World

**A/N:**_ Please bear with me through this one last "boring" chapter, then Kamila and Klaus's plotlines will meet back up and Kamila will be pulled into the TVD plotline. Then I can start getting some Klaus/Caroline stuff going, too!_

_**"Our Small, Sad World"**_

Useless. That sad excuse for a hunter was utterly useless. Klaus paced a few laps around his living room before finally lashing out with a hard kick, shattering the wine box he'd picked up in Spain in 1732. He'd just returned to Mystic Falls after a visit to the lake house, only to receive a call that his brother – his stupid, paranoid, arrogant little brother – had killed his new vampires before the Gilbert boy could do his job and make his mark grow.

This was not his week. His hybrids were dead, his hunter refused to hunt, and now Kol had gone rogue with this paranoid fairytale about a deadly immortal buried along with the cure. And to have Kamila pop up in the middle of all of it... He took his phone out and scrolled down to her number, because he remembered how things would be if it was 1822. He would have a bad day, all his evil plans foiled, and his first instinct would be to call on her. And they would share a bottle of wine and she would let him lay his head in her lap while she ran her fingers through his hair, listening to him rant, sympathizing with him even though she disagreed with what he'd been doing in the first place. That was Kamila all over: She'd always hated the things he did, but she loved him. She'd never help him with his dirty deeds, even when he asked, but she was always there to pick his spirits up when things went wrong.

He sighed and slipped the phone back into his pocket; he couldn't call her. After he'd made all that fuss about how he was a different person, about how everything had changed. He couldn't just call her and expect her to act as if nothing had. It wasn't, after all, 1822 anymore. Still, he couldn't shake the strangeness of how quickly it had all come back – the desire to be around her all the time, the instinct to run to her for comfort when things went downhill. He felt like a codependent child, but he fought it. He couldn't let her be a weakness; he seemed to have too many of those these days as it was.

* * *

Since 1971, Kamila couldn't wake up a single day without a Willy Wonka song stuck in her head. It had to be some sort of mental disorder, to wake up singing the Oompa Loompa song every day for forty-two years, but she actually kind of enjoyed it. It got all her days off to a good start, remembering the day she saw it with with one of her packmates, the first date she'd been on in the forty years since her husband's death. It hadn't led anywhere romantic, but it was the day that helped her truly get past her long-term grief. And it had been a good movie.

"_Come with me_," she sang softly as she hopped down the stairs of the boarding house, running her hand along the dusty banister – apparently housekeeping fell to the wayside with vampires. "_And you'll be in a land of pure imagination_." In the den, she could see Stefan with his jacket on, pulling his phone away from his ear. "Good morning, Mister Salvatore," she called to him.

He looked up and his eyes narrowed, and she could see that he didn't trust her. She didn't blame him. She wasn't a threat to him, but her association with Niklaus had always made people suspicious of her motives. "'Morning," the vampire replied shortly, zipping his jacket and reaching for his keys.

"Anything to eat in your kitchen?" Kamila asked, putting her hand to her stomach.

"Blood," another short reply.

She tried not to let out an audible whine. She'd driven through the night from Louisiana and immediately gone to see Niklaus, and after their encounter she'd been so upset that she hadn't stopped for a meal between leaving him and going to the boarding house. She was dizzy with hunger. "Well, since you seem to be heading out anyway," she gestured to the keys in his hand, "You mind picking up groceries? Put that six hundred bucks I gave you to good use?"

Stefan sighed and altered his course, walking up to Kamila. "Why should I believe that you're not some pawn in Klaus's schemes?"

"I told you: I'm just an old friend-"

"Klaus doesn't have friends," Stefan scoffed, "Not real ones.

Kamila cocked her head to the side, her tangled hair falling over her shoulder. "Really? Funny, I knew a witch by the name of Gloria once who told me some scary bedtime stories about best buds Nik and Stefan in the 1920s."

The vampire pressed his lips together in a tight, forced smile and let out a humorless laugh. "Okay, yeah, you're right; Klaus and I were friends, but you know what else? We hurt people, tortured people, ruined their lives. _That_ was the basis of our 'friendship'. And I'm supposed to believe that a friend of Klaus, who is not only a werewolf but a witch, who shows up on _my_ door has nothing to do with his plots?"

Kamila bit the inside of her cheek and shook her head, hurt. Of course she expected this kind of behavior, but it was always upsetting to have people constantly on guard around her, watching her, waiting for her to put a toe out of line. "In the future," she said softly, "You're gonna feel bad for not trusting me, but for now I respect your reservations." She stuck her hands in the pockets of her oversized sweatshirt and looked down at her feet, "But for now, all I asked for was some food."

"Go get some yourself."

"I don't want anyone else knowing I'm still in town."

He sighed again – it seemed to be his thing. "I don't have time for this," he said, more to himself than to her. He took out the roll of money she'd given him the night before and counted out fifty dollars, pressing it into her hand. "There's a grocer, a pizza place, and a Chinese place all within two miles, and all that deliver. Their phone numbers are on the refrigerator." He turned to leave, walking down the hall but pausing before he opened the door. Almost reluctantly, he turned around and added, "If you go with Zhang Dynasty, don't get the lemon chicken; I don't need you throwing up all over my house." Then he was gone.

She made a face as soon as he'd gone, then wandered around until she found the kitchen and the list of numbers on the refrigerator. She decided to go with the more practical option and called in an order to the grocer, using the full fifty dollars and throwing in twenty-seven more because who knew how long she'd be here? After she hung up, she dug opened the refrigerator and found eleven blood bags and a six pack of wine coolers, which she made a mental note to tease someone about later. In the cabinets she found mostly cobwebs and empty boxes, but she did manage to find half a bag of stale corn chips and a jar of peanut butter – she held her hand over the top of the jar and whispered a few foreign words, and when she dipped the first chip in and popped it in her mouth, it tasted like bean dip. Peanut butter to beans; probably not what Nature had intended when she'd bestowed the gift of magick on her, but hey, what could you do?

It was nighttime before anyone returned to the boarding house. Kamila was laying upside-down on the couch in the den, sipping at a glass of Jack Daniels and waving her legs back and forth to the Glenn Miller record she'd found on one of the shelves. As the hour grew later, she heard voices outside – Stefan, and another male. The other wasn't so much a voice as a series of helpless groans, accompanied by the scent of dead blood that hit her nostrils like mustard gas. Another vampire. With a snap of her fingers, Kamila commanded the record player off and quickly made her way up the stairs and to her room, shutting the door behind her and pressing her palm against the door. As soon as she'd arrived the night before, she'd put wards on the room; runes and herbs and spoken spells to hide the sound, scent, and – if anyone were to enter the room unwelcome – sight of her. The last thing she needed was Klaus popping in for a visit and realizing she hadn't gone that far away, after all.

She sat cross-legged in front of the door and tucked her hair behind her ears, listening. She heard Stefan deposit the other vampire – he called him Damon, so she deduced that this was the other half of the famous warring Salvatores – in the basement, locking him in some sort of dungeon. Really? A dungeon? Then she heard the door open as a visitor let herself in, and Kamila recognized her scent – it was the vampire from the square. She'd done her homework, she knew who it was: Elena Gilbert, the once-Petrova-doppelganger. They were speaking softly and, as good as werewolf hearing was, it didn't compare to vampire hearing. She missed half of the exchange while she was busy etching a rune to help her hear.

"Stefan, what are you doing with Rebekah?" Elena was asking when Kamila tuned back in. Ah, so that's where the elusive Salvatore boy had been all day; running around town with Rebekah Mikaelson. "She tried to kill me."

"And this'll be the _second _time that Damon tried to kill Jeremy," Stefan replied, "So I guess nobody's perfect, right?" Jeremy, the little Gilbert brother and new hunter. She wondered what had happened to make Damon go after him – considering he was locked away in the basement, she suspected compulsion. Only an Original could compel another vampire, but Niklaus and Rebekah both wanted to find the cure so they'd want to keep the hunter safe, which meant there was another player in town. She'd done her homework on the past, but she was getting nothing from the present. She really needed eyes in town until Niklaus called her to come back.

Downstairs, Elena scoffed. "Are you trying to punish me? I don't know how many times I can apologize."

"I never asked you to," Stefan countered. "You do whatever you want, Elena; I really don't care."

"You're hurt," the girl said softly, like she was trying to convince herself instead of him. "You're hurt and you're acting out; Stefan, this isn't you."

Kamila rolled her eyes. "Get over yourself," she whispered. Personally, she could see Stefan and Rebekah together – both playing the bad guy because it was how they coped with their pain, both soft and lost underneath, looking for some kind of redemption.

"Sure it is. You've just never seen me like this." She refocused as Stefan delivered his final blow. "You don't know what I look like when I'm not in love with you." There was a pause, and Elena's hurt was tangible, wafting up two floors and wrapping around Kamila like a heavy blanket. "I'll let Damon know you stopped by." After a few moments, the door opened and closed and Elena was gone.

Kamila picked herself up off the floor and made her way down the stairs, finding Stefan still frozen on the spot in the hallway. "I think you need a drink," she told him. He didn't move, but he nodded. She walked past him, touching his elbow briefly before heading into the den; she heard him follow her in and sit down on the couch. She poured him a glass of scotch from one of the crystal decanters and held it out for him.

He looked up at her suspiciously, as if only just realizing who she was, and that he shouldn't be playing nice. He made no move for the glass. "What?" Kamila asked, taking the first sip to show it was safe, "You'd prefer one of those wine coolers in the 'fridge? 'Cause I can go get you one." She held the glass out again.

This time he took it with a quiet laugh, "Those are Caroline's."

"Caroline," she repeated, sitting down on the other side of the couch. "She's the little blonde vampire, right? The cute one?" She wiggled her eyebrows.

"Yeah, but it's not like that. She's," he shifted uncomfortably, "She's my best friend, I guess."

"And she goes with Patient Zero, right?" When Stefan raised his eyebrows, Kamila waved a hand aimlessly and explained, "A stupid little nickname the packs have come up with for the first hybrid Niklaus made."

Stefan gulped down his drink and nodded, "Tyler, yeah."

She knew she was testing her boundaries, but Kamila couldn't help but ask, "So who've we got in the basement?"

"My brother," he surprised her by answering immediately. "He's been compelled to kill someone. Someone Klaus wouldn't want dead," he said suddenly, turning to face her, "So if you're thinking about letting him out, that would be a mistake."

"I heard," she told him, taking his glass and standing to circle the couch and put it back by the decanter. "Jeremy Gilbert, the little hunter boy. Don't worry," she reassured him when his eyes narrowed, "I did my homework and I know all the players, but it's like I said: I've got no interest in Niklaus's politics. Consider me a neutral party."

He studied her a moment longer. "So if I were to go out for a while-"

"The bat would stay in the cave when you got back," she finished. "You gonna go see that girl again? Apologize to her?"

He stood and shook his head, reaching for his jacket. "Nope. Just need to get some fresh air."

"You need me to feed him or anything while you're gone?"

"Nope," Stefan said again, "Don't even go down in the basement. I don't understand it, but somehow he always seems to be able to charm women into helping him out."

Kamila scoffed, "I'm not so easily charmed, _cher_."

"I'm serious," and his furrowed brow reflected this statement. "Don't make me regret giving you the benefit of the doubt." She gave him a small salute and he shot her one last look before leaving.

Once she was sure he was gone, she began itching with curiosity. She wanted to go down to the basement and get a look at the famous vampire Lothario, tempt fate and see if he could charm her, but she'd given Stefan her word and she never went back on her word. So instead, she popped some popcorn, grabbed her bottle of Jack, and went back up to her room.

* * *

Why, why, _why_ did his family have to be so stupid and stubborn? Kol was hellbent on ruining his plans, running around trying to kill everyone. Rebekah was refusing to have anything to do with him, even after he saved her from getting a white-oak stake through the heart. On the brighter side, Stefan had managed to subdue Damon and Jeremy was safe, which was the only good thing Klaus seemed to have going for him right now.

Klaus climbed the stairs to one of the original Mystic Falls houses, rapping the doorknocker twice against it's metal complement. Elena answered, but Jeremy was standing close behind her – deep down, there was a part of Klaus that envied that about them. How they were always right by each other, protecting each other, looking out for each other even when they were warring between themselves. He remembered when he was human, and he and his siblings felt that way about one another.

He tried to convince Jeremy to come with him – he would be safe with him, because even in his most foolish state Kol wouldn't dare come after Jeremy if he was under Klaus's direct protection. The hunter refused. Klaus tried again, but still he was refused, even after ensuring them that Jeremy was in danger if he stayed in the family home. No, no, and no. Klaus felt an ire rising in him so strongly and swiftly that it made him want to tear their quaint old house apart, board by board. He took a deep breath and forced his voice calm. "Fine," he told them, "But when Kol does come, and he will come, be sure to let me know. Preferably before he burns your nice little home to the ground." He looked past Elena to Jeremy, meeting his eyes directly, "And as for you, hunter: There's no shortage of people to turn or loved-ones to threaten, so sleep well. We'll plan on finishing our work tomorrow."

He backed away and turned, making himself walk slowly and confidently down the steps when all he wanted was the lash out. And again, he was pestered by that feeling tugging at the back of his mind, telling him to call Kamila. Still he forced it away, because what could she do for him? She wouldn't force Jeremy to come with him. She wouldn't stop Kol. She wouldn't do anything for him that he actually needed done. No. No, he wouldn't call her. He wouldn't.


	6. From Bad To Worse

**_"From Bad To Worse"_**

Kamila's ears pricked when she heard the door open the next morning, signifying that Stefan had just now gotten back in. She grinned into her pillow – good for him. Maybe getting laid would loosen him up and he'd stop being so uptight around her, but somehow she doubted it. She heard two sets of footfall and assumed he'd brought his woman home with him, which meant she couldn't risk a venture downstairs. Pity. She was starving. She rolled onto her back and tossed an arm over her eyes to keep the light out, trying to fall back asleep, but it was hopeless. She could hear people walking around and feel the sunlight burning through the curtains, and she had the "Candy Man" song stuck in her head; she was awake.

She reached for the shorts and hoodie she'd tossed on the bedside chair the night before and threw them on, standing and walking to the door to touch the rune she'd drawn for amplified hearing. Stefan wasn't talking, but she finally got to hear Damon's voice after a full night of silence. And apparently, he was not happy with the blood-service he was receiving. Then she heard the voice of the third party in the boarding house, and it wasn't a woman after all.

"Hello, mate." Niklaus. Her skin prickled and she started to feel panicked, even though she knew that he had no way of telling she was there. She found herself tiptoeing and praying he couldn't hear or smell her through her barriers. For some inexplicable reason, her magick always gave off a particular scent, and he'd always been frighteningly good at honing in on it.

"What the hell are you doing here?" She heard Damon ask weakly.

"Babysitting." At least Niklaus's voice stayed casual, giving no indication that he suspected someone else was there. She listened to their exchange until Stefan made his way back up from the basement alone, then she had to choose between conversations. Damon was musing over "my brother and your sister" to Niklaus, while Stefan had answered a call about...

"I don't wanna just dagger Kol," she heard Elena's voice faintly through the speaker of the cell phone, "I want Jeremy to kill him." She had to trace another rune to hear them over Stefan's motorcycle, but she got it – every single detail of Elena's plan to lure Kol in and kill him. She sat down on the floor of her room and chewed on her thumbnail, at war with herself. She needed to tell Niklaus, but how could she without sending him off on a rampage and killing everyone involved in the plan? But if she said nothing and they succeeded in killing Kol, he'd go on a rampage and kill everyone anyway. It was a no-win situation, and besides, she'd sworn to be a neutral party. She'd told Stefan just hours before that she wouldn't get involved.

In a fit of frustration, she stood and picked up the nightstand by her bed, flinging it across the room so hard that it shattered into thousands of splinters and left a dent in the plaster, peeling away the wallpaper. She froze, listening hard, but the conversation downstairs continued as if nothing had changed – they didn't hear anything. She'd been awake for less than half an hour and she was already spent. She collapsed back onto the bed and rested her chin in her hands, elbows on her knees; what was she going to do?

Hours later, Kamila was still tortured over what to do about the Kol situation, knowing full and well that the plan had probably gone into effect by now while she'd sat on her thumbs and tried to come to a decision. She heard Niklaus and Damon talking – talking about Elena, and how she always seemed to forgive every horrible thing Damon ever did. Then her focus snapped back fully when she heard Damon's voice go sly, almost teasing.

"I think that this has something to do with a certain _other_ vampire," he said. "I think you tried to murder Carol Lockwood and everyone knows it, and you think you'll never be forgiven."

"A name," Kamila hissed at the floor, the girl in her making an appearance. She knew Niklaus was in love, sure, but she wasn't sure who with. At least she knew it was a vampire, though she hadn't really had doubts in that department anyway. Was it Elena? Everyone seemed to be in love with Elena. Caroline? Katherine, even?

"You've done worse," Niklaus informed Damon.

"Debatable." They went back and forth for a while but neither of them mentioned a name, so Kamila went back to her war with her conscious. That was, until she overheard a call to Niklaus and a demand to know what was going on, and Damon's insistence that he didn't know anything. She knew she'd missed her window of opportunity – if she was going to be a bystander, she had to be a bystander.

"Stay here 'til I return," Niklaus commanded Damon, presumably compelling him. In a flash, he was out the door and halfway down the black.

"I will stay here until you return...or not," Damon replied. Kamila's eyes widened and she quickly threw open her door and ran down the stairs, meeting him in the hallway as he came up from the basement. He was better looking than she'd imagined, with floppy hair and ice blue eyes, but she felt she'd been right; she wouldn't have been charmed by him.

She held up one hand, "Stop."

He slowed, still weak from a lack of blood, and looked her up and down. "Who the hell are you?"

Instead of answering, Kamila extended her other hand and opened it, releasing the same burst of light she'd used on Stefan and Rebekah two nights before. As Damon blinked away the spots in his eyes, she told him, "You will stay in this house until you're free of Kol's compulsion," she instructed, "And you will forget you ever saw me."

"I will stay here and forget I ever saw you," he repeated in a trance-like state, and this time it was sincere. Kamila nodded and went up to her room to pack the few things she'd strewn around her room, racing back downstairs and throwing them in the back of her pickup truck. She wouldn't interfere – a statement she repeated in her head like a mantra – but if Niklaus called her tonight, she wanted to be close enough to get to him immediately.

* * *

He could hear his brother's screams as he reached the street, see the flames as he raced to the open door, feel the hot tears burning in his eyes but he held them back as anger took hold. "What did you do?" Klaus demanded as the Gilbert siblings turned to face him.

"We didn't have a choice," Elena insisted, "He was trying to cut off Jeremy's arm!"

"_Lies_," he growled, feeling his body start to shake. "He never would have gotten inside if you hadn't have set a trap for him." He felt weak, but his rage and sorrow drove him forward. He'd already lost one brother – lived with the smell of burnt flesh and ash for weeks following his death – and now he'd watched another burn before his very eyes. He'd killed his father, his mother, his hybrids. He was running out of people to lose.

Elena pleaded with him, "You said you were gonna put him down, too."

"I was going to make him suffer on _my terms_!" He yelled, his voice echoing around the patio. How dare she – _how dare she_? He'd never intended to murder his brother, to put him down permanently; he'd only meant to dagger him and lock him away for a while, until his goals had been realized. He took a deep breath and a step back, doing what he did best. "I'm gonna burn this house to the ground," he told them matter-of-factly, "And then when you try to flee for your lives, I'll kill you both without blinking."

Jeremy took charge, stepping in front of his sister, challenging the Original. "You kill us, you'll never get to the cure. You'll never be able to make any more hybrids."

"You really think I care for an instant about my bloody hybrids?" Klaus lied, "I want the cure so I can destroy it; I would've killed you all the second we dug it up, but now I'm just going to watch you burn instead." Then, like an M-80 shoved inside of a cantaloupe, his mind exploded in a pain that spread to the rest of his body, forcing him to his knees as every muscle clenched and every organ burned. He'd only felt this pain a few times in his life – most witches weren't strong enough to have such an effect on him – and he immediately knew it was the Bennett witch. This was confirmed as she stepped past his crumpled form, into the house.

"Invite him in," she ordered Jeremy. "Do it."

Klaus struggled to his feet and stood, seething in front of them. Jeremy glanced between Bonnie and Elena before finally saying reluctantly, "Come in." As the Original charged forward, he was wracked with another wave of searing pain that sent him sprawling to the floor. Bonnie barked at them to go through the living room and with every ounce of strength Klaus had, he followed them. As he ran through and made for the kitchen, he was stopped by the equivalent of running into a plexiglass window, bouncing him back almost a foot. He tried again, now that the pain was suddenly gone, and pounded his fist against the invisible wall. Nothing. He tried the other side of the room, again and again and again until his fists were sore, all while the Gilberts and the Bennett witch just watched. Well, that was just fine; he had a witch of his own.

He almost tore a hole in his jacket pulling his phone from the pocket, scrolling down to Kamila's number and pressing the phone to his ear. "Kamila," his voice was still a growl, but there was sadness in it. "Come to-"

"I'm here," a voice answered in person before he could even finish speaking.

* * *

Kamila had already been out of her truck and halfway to the door when her phone rang, giving her the excuse she needed. She didn't wait for an invitation before she raced over the threshold of the Gilbert house, where she found Niklaus trapped in a spell in the living room. The hunter boy, Jeremy Gilbert, grabbed her on instinct, his hands tight on her upper arms. "Oh, get your hands offa me," she barked at him, focusing for just an instant and sending his arms flying out from his sides, releasing her. She stepped past Elena and Bonnie, who looked at her with vague recognition, and stopped just outside of the spell's walls.

"Kamila," he told her in a low voice, "Get me out of here."

She watched him carefully, seeing the rage in his eyes and hearing the hurt in his voice, before saying, "No."

She felt the surprise of everyone in the room, and she got the feeling that they weren't used to hearing people deny Niklaus. "What do you mean, 'no'?" He growled.

"If I let you out, you're gonna kill 'em and you don't wanna do that."

"Get me out of here," he repeated, "Or I'll kill _you_."

"Oh?" She stared into his eyes, not casting any spells but just reading the man behind them. She knew this wasn't the Niklaus that she used to know – he was angrier, harder, and in more pain than he ever had been when they knew each other. But she also knew that parts of him remained, and she took the plunge; she called his bluff. "All right, Niklaus," she said, stepping through the barrier and right in front of him, "Do it."

He froze, standing perfectly still on the spot but breathing heavily, obviously battling with his basic instincts and the memories he had of her. When several minutes passed without him making his move, Kamila called over her shoulder to the Gilberts, "Y'all should get outta here. Get someplace safe." They didn't need to be told twice. She heard the faint breeze left behind by Elena's vampire speed, leaving her alone with Niklaus and Bonnie. She turned and looked at the witch, sizing her up before locking on her eyes. It was a trick she'd learned over the years, sort of like picking a lock – if you knew what you were doing and stared into a witch's eyes, you could take apart her spell, see every component to it and, therefore, how to undo it. But when she stared into Bonnie Bennett's hard brown eyes, she saw...

"Oh my god."

"What?" Niklaus asked, moving to stand at her side.

Kamila tore her eyes from Bonnie's briefly to glance at him, "She's using."

Bonnie's expression screwed up to one of confusion, "Using? I don't _do_ drugs."

"No?" Kamila stepped back through the barrier and made her way to Bonnie, who regarded her cautiously. "It's hard to control, isn't it? You feel strong when you're on it, weak when you can't have it, heart constantly pounding like it's gonna burst right outta your chest?" Bonnie swallowed, and Kamila pressed on. "Expression is the worst kind of drug; you gotta kick that habit, _cher_, if you wanna live to see your graduation."

"Are you threatening me?" Bonnie said in barely a whisper.

Kamila shook her head, "Just giving some friendly advice."

"Well, I don't need your advice," the other witch snapped, her resolve hardening. "I'm obviously stronger than you, and you don't scare me."

Kamila sighed and forced a smile, turning back to Niklaus. "You better get outta here," she called over her shoulder as she walked back into the living room, "I'm gonna start working on your spell and eventually, I will break it. When I do," she spared a look over her shoulder, "I doubt Niklaus will view you as an inexpendable party." Bonnie hesitated, but decided it best to take this advice, turning on her heel and walking quickly from the house, leaving Kamila and Niklaus with silence and the scent of blood and ash.

After five minutes of pacing, Niklaus finally sat down on the couch with his hands clasped in front of him and his head down. "You really can't undo her spell?"

"I'll work on it," Kamila told him, "But honestly, by the time I manage to break through all the layers, it'll probably have already worn off."

"Try anyway," he growled.

"I will," she promised. She circled around the couch and sat down next to him, putting an arm around his shoulders.

He glared at her, "Is this how you intend to break the spell?"

"Shut up, Niklaus," she ordered sharply, stretching her other arm across his chest and pulling him to the side until his head was rested on her shoulder. He fought her for only a fraction of a second before putting his own arms around her waist and pressing his face against her shoulder, a few tears escaping for the brother he'd lost. He understood now why this was when he chose the call her – not because he needed a witch to break him out of Bonnie's spell, but because she was the only person who could – or would even be willing to – give him comfort right now. He'd called because he needed _her_, not her magick.

Kamila brought one hand up to smooth his hair back on his head, finger playing with the curls while she rocked him gently back and forth. They stayed like that until he finally let himself fall asleep, almost an hour later. Once he was out, she carefully extracted herself and went to light a fire in the fireplace, sitting cross-legged in front of it and staring into the flame. She visualized a few runes and old words of Power, tracing them over the hearth with her mind before letting her eyes slip shut. She felt at the invisible box around the room, trying to find some, for lack of a better word, wiggle room. A place to slide her fingers underneath and pull. There was nothing. She opened her eyes and groaned; she hated witches that used Expression. It was a bastardized form of witchcraft to begin with, and add in the fact that most witches misused it to the point of no return, it was a recipe for disaster. But it was strong, and she'd never found a quick way around an Expression spell. This was going to take a while.

* * *

When Klaus woke, almost eight hours later, he was laying on the couch with his legs hanging over the edge, his head pounding with hunger and the remnants of Bonnie's magick the night before. He blinked heavily and his eyes were instantly drawn to Kamila, sitting on the floor with her back to him, facing a roaring fire without a single log on the grate. "Any progress?" He asked, voice thick with sleep.

"All business, Niklaus," she reprimanded tiredly, "No 'good morning, sunshine'?"

"I'm hungry, I'm angry, and I want out of here," he snapped, sitting up.

"Yeah?" She shot back, jumping to her feet. When she did, the flame snuffed out without leaving even a wisp of smoke behind, as if it had never existed. When she turned, her eyes were bloodshot slits, such a dark green that they were almost black. She hunched over him, one finger up like an angry parent. "Well, I have been sitting in the exact same position for eight hours straight, exhausting every ounce of Power I have trying to _get_ you out of here, so the least you can do is exchange some pleasantries with me." She straightened up and stumbled back a few steps, catching herself on the edge of the coffee table and easing herself to the floor, one hand pressed against her forehead. "I stood up too fast," she said weakly.

After a pause, and reluctantly, Klaus asked, "Are you all right?"

She licked her lips and shook her head, "This isn't exactly the reunion I've been dreaming of. I mean, I knew what all you'd been up to," she braced her elbow against the table and rested her cheek on her fist. "And god knows I've changed too, but I thought there would still be something there, you know? Not of who you used to be or who I used to be, but of who _we_ used to be. Now I'm here, killing myself trying to do the impossible for you, and you can't even-" She cut herself off, catching herself and shaking her head lazily from side to side, rubbing at her eyes and forcing a smile. "You know what? Never mind. I'm sorry – I'm just tired and grumpy." She sat up and slapped her cheeks with either of her hands, then scooted back over to the fireplace. It took her a few tries, but she finally focused enough to get the fire going again.

Klaus studied her intently as she started weaving her magick back through the air, the peculiar scent filling the air like a heavy cloud of perfume. Power came off of her in waves, even when she was tired and upset with him; she was a far cry from the novice she'd been when he knew her. Sure, she'd always been a pro when it came to healing people, but outside of that she had to be in a state of great emotional turmoil to make a spice bottle roll. Now she was sparking fires and trying to dismantle an Expression spell on her own, and she still managed to keep her temper with him. To a degree.

And last night, she'd been the same voice of reason he remembered. Somehow, even coming in on the middle of everything, she knew he hadn't really intended to destroy the cure. She knew he didn't really want to kill Elena and Jeremy. She even knew that he viewed Bonnie as expendable. And then, on top of everything else, she'd known that he just needed to be in her arms and mourn for a while, even when he was pressing her to get her spell started. Despite what she thought, there was a lot of the old her clinging to the new her; he felt he owed it to her to be some of the old him in return, but he didn't know if he remembered how. The nineteenth century version of himself had been softer, more unguarded, and actually cared about people other then himself. Well, person. Kamila was the only person outside of his own bloodline that he'd ever given a damn about.

He sucked in a breath and smoothed his hair back, trying to summon the right words to his tongue. He settled on, "What were you going to say?"

The fire flickered like a lightbulb as Kamila tried to stay focused, "What do you mean?"

"You said 'and you can't even-'. What was the Can't Even?"

She sighed and slumped, the fire dying again completely. "And you can't even ask me the smallest detail about my life since you left me. Like if I stayed in New Orleans, or if I still love walnut trees, or what my husband's name was." She shook it off and sat up again, "But it's okay, really; that's why I said never mind. It's not that big of a deal." There were a few sparks in the hearth, but nothing came of it. She kept trying, sending little shots of blue and yellow against the brick but they never caught.

Klaus felt pity for her, as well as something else. Something he hadn't felt in a long time: Guilt. He got up from the couch and walked over to her, kneeling behind her and putting a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Kamila." He brushed her hair from her neck, pushing it over to one side, then pressed his thumb between her shoulder blades and moved it in slow circles to relieve the tension there. "This isn't the reunion I would have wanted, either. Had I known you were still alive," he said pointedly, then laughed lightly. "If it had been any other time, under any other conditions, you know I would have greeted you with open arms and gladly given you anything you wanted."

"I know," she assured him. "And it was unfair of me to spring myself on you after all this time, you thinking I was dead and all. I should have come to see you the moment I knew Mikael was dead; I shouldn't have waited until I wanted something."

"You just took a page out of my book," he said, almost proudly, "Did what I would have done." He paused, then asked sincerely, "So what _was_ your husband's name?" She opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off by the sound of a throat clearing in the foyer.

Tyler Lockwood stood there, a cocky smirk tugging on his lips. "'Morning, sunshine."

* * *

**A/N:**  
_Thanks for stickin' with me so far, folks! In the next chapter, Caroline finally gets to meet Kamila!_


	7. Blood In, Blood Out

_**"Blood In, Blood Out"**_

Despite himself, Klaus laughed, which was definitely not the reaction Tyler had been expecting. In front of him, Kamila's shoulders were hunched with laughter as well.

"I told you," she said, gesturing to the intruder. "See, this boy knows his morning pleasantries."

Tyler's chin rose as he looked at the woman, "Who the hell are you?"

"Kamila Ross," she introduced herself politely, as if she was unaware of the angry tension that had followed him in. "Old friend of Niklaus's. I take it this is the Lockwood boy," she added to Klaus, who nodded. The humor of the "sunshine" comment had faded and his expression was replaced with that of complete resentment as he slowly rose to a standing position.

"Yes," he said, jaw clenched, "The first of my hybrids and now, thanks to his efforts, the last."

Tyler leaned against the wood molding of the dividing archway with his arms crossed, "You're the one that decided to lop all their heads off."

"Let's see: Them, or me?" Klaus scoffed, "You may as well have killed them yourself, you pathetic little maggot."

"Me?" Tyler put his hand to his chest and laughed, "You're trapped in an invisible box. I don't know how to tell you this, buddy, but you're the one who's looking pathetic right now."

Klaus was seething inside, but he kept it from his face; he'd be damned if he'd give an ingrate like Tyler Lockwood the satisfaction of seeing him riled up. "Only until my friend here manages to bring down Bonnie's spell," he said calmly, gesturing over his shoulder to Kamila, who'd finally managed to get the fire going again and was staring into it with intense concentration. "Then I'll look different. Angrier, perhaps. Or I won't look like anything 'cause I'll have gouged your eyeballs from their sockets."

Like his sire, Tyler showed no signs of anger or intimidation. He remained cool as he regarded Kamila, "Oh, so that's the witch that you called to rescue you last night." He snorted and shook his head, "Bonnie says there's no way in hell she'll be able to break the spell before they get back with the cure. Then I get the pleasure of shoving it down your throat and making you mortal."

"I'm an Original," Klaus stalked back and forth in front of the barrier between them, "What makes you think my entire vampire bloodline won't be cured along with me? i.e., _you_."

Tyler pretended to consider this for a moment, then pushed off of the molding with a sly grin. "You know what I think?" He shrugged, "I think that's impossible. I think the moment you stop being a vampire, our whole blood-connection to you is broken, and your sire-line ceases to exist. So whatever happens to you, happens only to _you_ – which means that I can kill your ass and no one else has to die." It was a flawed logic, but it was certainly possible. Klaus didn't let this fact register on his face, however; he kept it guarded and emotionless. "Although I am still debating just how to do it," Tyler added as an afterthought.

Klaus stopped pacing the barrier and stood face to face with his hybrid. "I recommend drowning," he offered matter-of-factually, relishing the way Tyler's eyes narrowed. "There's nothing quite like the feeling of someone fighting for something as basic as human breath, and let me tell you, your mother was a fighter." He took a step back, grinning, "How is Carol? I look forward to seeing her again when I get out of here, you know."

"You'll never find her, you bastard," Tyler snapped in response, his cool resolve breaking, "You'll never even get the chance to try. Once we have that cure, you'll be human, and then you'll get to see exactly what it feels like to have someone else play with your life."

Kamila slapped her hands against her knees, so suddenly that the sound startled both men and they turned to face her. She stood slowly on wobbly legs and glared at them, "I'm running on no sleep and y'all are making it impossible for me to concentrate!" She made her way to where Klaus stood, glaring all the while, and then her expression softened and she turned to look at Tyler, "Coffee?" She crossed to the archway that led to the kitchen, yawning so widely that it looked like her jaw might come unhinged, and stepped through the barrier. She started for the coffee pot, but stopped when she realized she'd have to step over Kol's charred and twisted body. She looked over her shoulder sympathetically, ashamed that she'd forgotten all about the death overnight. Klaus seemed to have the same reaction, because his face fell and he came to stand at the barrier, looking on mournfully.

The front door opened and closed and Kamila looked up to see a young woman slipping into the house, with kind eyes and hair that fell in soft blonde waves to her shoulders. This was the only key player she hadn't met yet – Caroline Forbes. Caroline immediately went to Tyler's side, looking first to Klaus and then to the unfamiliar woman. "Sweetheart," Kamila said by way of introduction when the girl's eyes found hers. She nodded to the corpse in front of her and asked, "Would you mind giving me a hand right quick?"

Instead of answering her directly, Caroline gave Tyler a cautious look, "Who is she?"

"The witch Bonnie told us about," he told her, eyes never leaving Kamila. "Says she's an old friend of Klaus's; I can't tell if she's under his compulsion or not."

Kamila rolled her eyes, "As if a cheap trick like compulsion would work on me." She sighed and ran a hand through her thick black hair, "Look, I'm worn a little thin right now, so I could really use a hand here. I know y'all got your quarrels with Niklaus," she shot him an apologetic glance, "But nobody deserves having to stare at their own blood like this."

After a long, silent moment, Caroline took in a deep breath and nodded, circling around through the hallway to enter the kitchen. "What do you want to do with him?"

Kamila held up a finger and went back to the living room to grab the blanket that had been draped over the back of the couch. "It's up to you," she said quietly to Klaus, "Bury him or burn him?"

His eyes were glazed and hadn't moved from Kol's body. "Burn him," he responded.

She nodded, putting a hand on his shoulder, "I'll bring you the ashes."

"Don't bother," he said shortly.

She fixed him in a stare and repeated, "I'll bring you the ashes." Then she went back to the kitchen and had Caroline take two edges of the blanket while she took the other two, and they draped the blanket over the dead vampire's body. Kamila looked over her shoulder, through the French doors and into the backyard. There was a privacy fence and a hole dug out for a firepit a few yards from the house, four metal chairs situated around it and rusted and dirty from disuse. "Help me carry him out?" She requested of Caroline.

"She's not going anywhere alone with you," Tyler barked from the other end of the house.

"Then by all means, _cher_," Kamila shot back, beginning to lose her patience, "You come help instead."

Caroline looked over her shoulder and held up a hand, "It's fine, Tyler. It's just right outside." She turned back and gave Kamila a little nod, and they both hunched down to grab and lift either end of the body. They were both perfectly capable of handling Kol's weight on their own, but a body was such a large and awkwardly shaped thing that, human or otherwise, was just easier to carry with someone else. They got him through the doors and into the pit easily, leaving the blanket on just in case some nosy neighbor decided to peep through a hole in the fence. "Now what?" Caroline asked, wiping her hands on her dark jeans.

Kamila was staring at the body, but held out a hand to the vampire. "Would you mind lending me a little bit of your energy?"

"What?" Caroline asked, confused.

"You know how, if you leave the hot water running too long, it goes stone cold?" Kamila pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand, "Well, I been running hot all night and I need someone to spark up the water heater. All you gotta do is give me your hand," she wiggled the fingers of her extended hand, "And I'll take a little bit of energy from you, just enough to get this fire started."

Caroline narrowed her eyes, "And why should I trust you?"

"Well, it's not gonna magickally drive a stake through your heart or make your head fall off, so you're pretty safe in that department." Kamila moved a little closer, "But put it this way: I'm asking. If I was a threat to you, I'd just take it, but I don't go like that."

She seemed to see the logic in this argument and, slowly, the vampire placed her hand in Kamila's. There was a pale spark between their palms and Caroline felt a sharp jolt, like something had been physically yanked off of her body, but recovered quickly. Kamila loosened her grip and gave a small smile of thanks, then held both hands over where the body lay in the shallow pit. A fire roared to life instantly at his heart, spreading quickly and burning white hot. "Thank you, darling," she said kindly, "You can head back in now, if you like; it'll take a while for it to burn out."

Caroline turned and took one step toward the house, but then stopped and turned back. "Who are you, really?"

Kamila extended her hand again, this time to shake. "Kamila Ross. I really am an old friend of Niklaus."

"So you're one of his witches," Caroline surmised, but shook her hand anyway.

"The _only_ thing I am to him," Kamila asserted, "Is his friend. If I can do a spell for him that isn't going to hurt anyone, I'll do it, but I've always kept out of his more...distasteful endeavors."

"Hm," Caroline crossed her arms over her chest, clearly unconvinced, but not as cautious as she'd been a few minutes before. "I'm Caroline, by the way," she said after a long pause. "Caroline Forbes."

"Pleasure, Miss Forbes."

"So," she vampire lowered herself into one of the rusted chairs, "Why haven't we ever seen you before? I mean, Klaus has dragged every other witch, werewolf and vampire he knows through Mystic Falls, so why not you?"

Kamila took a seat opposite her, so they faced each other with the fire between them. "Probably got something to do with the fact that he thought I was dead for the past hundred-and-eighty years."

Caroline's eyes widened and she leaned forward, "But...you're _human_. I-I didn't think even witches could live that long."

"I'm not your typical witch," Kamila replied with a shrug.

Caroline opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off when the backdoor opened and Tyler stepped out. "Care," was all he said. She nodded and stood, giving Kamila one final glance of curiosity before following her boyfriend back into the house. Kamila watched them go, then leaned her head onto her hand and let her eyes drift shut, catching a few winks while the carcass in the pit slowly turned to ash.

Once inside, Caroline's eyes flicked to Klaus barely long enough to be noticed, and told him, "She says it'll take a little while."

"I heard," he said, taking a few steps backward and leaning against the back of the couch. "Thank you for assisting, Caroline." She ignored this, instead turning her back to him and walking further into the kitchen to switch on the coffee pot. Clearly, she was still holding a grudge over the fact that Klaus had almost murdered her boyfriend's mother and torn her own heart from her chest a few nights before. Or, equally as likely, she was pissed at him for ruining her dress in the process.

Klaus watched as Caroline busied herself with cleaning up the mess the Gilberts had left in the kitchen and Tyler stared out the window to where Kamila had fallen asleep. She'd exhausted herself trying to edge him out of the spelled room and had given no indication that she'd even made a dent; if he didn't figure something out, he might really be stuck here until the others returned with the cure. He decided it was time to try a different tactic. "I tried to kill Tyler's mother," he said evenly, causing the young couple to turn to look at him. "My brother is dead. We're _even_." He looked at Caroline imploringly, "Call Bonnie, get her to let me out of here, and I'll be on my way."

Caroline stared back at him like he was insane, her hands on her hips, "I will never, ever help you."

"How quickly you forget," he countered, "The part where I saved Tyler from the misery of being a werewolf, or the night your mother invited me into her home to save the life of her precious daughter."

She scoffed, "How delusional are you? You tried to kill his mother," she gestured to Tyler, then to herself, "And then you tried to kill me. And let's not forget that we're standing in a house where Elena's aunt Jenna used to live," she threw both arms out from her sides, as if to encompass the entire residence. "Or did you think that your charm would make us forget how you killed her, too? You know what? No," she shook her head, a forced smile on her face, "I am not going to engage in this." Then she laughed in his face and lowered her voice, "You are not even worth the calories I burn talking to you."

Klaus stared at her for a long beat, then in a flash the lamp at his side was in his hands and he thrust the post through the girl's stomach, using it as leverage to pull her through the barrier and into the living room with him. "_No_!" Two voices yelled in unison as the backdoor swung open and Kamila stumbled through as Tyler advanced. She put out her hand, but not before Klaus had wrapped his arms around Caroline's back and sunk his wolf fangs into her shoulder. There were bright bursts of light in front of his eyes as Kamila began popping capillaries in his brain, causing him to fall to his feet long enough for her to dash into the living room and grab the blonde girl under the arms, dragging her back to the safety of the kitchen.

As his aneurism healed itself, Klaus climbed back to his feet and turned around, a smug smile painted under the stain of Caroline's blood on his teeth. "Now that was definitely worth the calories," he said, licking his lips. He looked at Kamila and clicked his tongue in disappointment, "You'd betray me, Kamila?"

"How could I betray you?" She shot back, pulling Caroline's sweater aside to look at the wound. "I was never _allied_ to you! But I was trying to help you out of there; why'd you have to go and do something so stupid when I was handling it?!"

"I thought I'd give you a break," he said, like he'd done her a favor. He used the back of his sleeve to wipe the rest of the blood from his face. "Call Bonnie," he repeated to Tyler, "Or your girlfriend is dead."

Tyler ignored him, looking instead to Kamila. "Can you help her?" He asked desperately, forgetting his suspicions of her, "You're a witch; can you do something?"

Kamila remembered a full moon in 1900, when she'd changed in the woods and happened upon a vampire in the night. When she'd woken up next to his body in a riverside cave, writhing in pain and sweating through hallucinations, she'd tried for hours to heal him with her Power. She hadn't even been able to slow it down. "I'm sorry," she shook her head, "Ain't a thing even the strongest witch can do when a werewolf bites a vampire; it's one of the balances that we can't tip."

"Oh my god," Caroline was gasping quietly, "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my _god_."

"Then can't you do that brain-pop thing and just cut him?" Tyler demanded, wrapping both arms around his girlfriend. "Take some of his blood and give it to her?"

Again, Kamila could only shake her head slowly. "Niklaus commands his blood flow, just the same as a hybrid can control when the wolf in them comes out. I could get the blood, sure, but there's no guarantee the blood I got would have the cure in it."

"Not to mention I'd snap your neck for trying," Klaus called from the living room. She knew he was bluffing, but if she undermined his statement in front of Tyler, he might just kill her after all.

"I can dull the pain just a little," Kamila said softly to Caroline, ignoring Klaus's comment. "Do I have your permission?" The girl nodded, and Kamila put both hands over the wound, concentrating her Power into the magickal equivalent of morphine and pumping it through the vampire's body. After a moment, she stopped panting and was able to struggle to her feet.

Kamila rose with her, turning to Klaus. "If I can get you outta there," she said, "You'll heal her?"

He shrugged, "Sure. But the bite works fast, so Tyler, you should really call your own witch back."

"Go on," Kamila told Tyler as he held tight to Caroline, supporting her against his shoulder, "Take her home – make her comfortable."

He nodded and turned them both toward the door, then looked over his shoulder and said a reluctant, "Thank you," before disappearing.

Once they were gone, Kamila poured herself a cup of coffee and ran her index finger around the rim, tracing a few runes intended to wake her up and replenish her energy enough so she could continue working. She sucked it down, poured another, and walked back into the living room. "Taking sides with strangers, Kamila?" Klaus inquired as she sat down in front of the fireplace.

Instead of answering his question, she said, "When this is over, Niklaus, you and I are gonna have some words. But for now, just shut up and hand me that," she pointed to a school notebook with a pen stuck in the spiral, tossed and forgotten on a chair by the window. He retrieved it and handed it to her.

"What's it for?"

"Just feeling around is getting me nowhere," she mumbled absently, flipping to a fresh page and writing out combinations of runes and words in ancient languages. "It's possible to create a spell that uses the Power attached to an Expression spell against itself, but it has to be handcrafted and it takes a while to get right." She tore out the first page and crumpled it, tossing it into the hearth just as a fire began dancing within. "Also, _shut up_."

He pantomimed zipping his lips shut and fell back on the couch, thumping his feet up on the coffee table. There was a strong tug on his ankles and his feet were pulled back to the floor. He glared at Kamila, but she was still scribbling away at the new page, crossing something out and writing over it, then crumpling the whole thing and tossing it in with the first. It looked like he was just going to have to wait.

* * *

The entire day, two more pots of coffee, a pizza delivery, and a coagulated blood bag later, it was dark out and Kamila was still writing furiously in the notebook, down to her last ten blank pages but at least she felt she was getting close. She didn't tell Niklaus that, however; it didn't seem wise to say anything to him right now. Shortly after Tyler had carried Caroline away, his big bad wolf act had come crashing down and he'd sunken into a state of what appeared to be depression. He kept glancing at the oxidized brown stain on his jacket sleeve and running his hands through his hair, fidgeting and taking in deep breaths every so often that he never seemed to let back out. It didn't take long for Kamila to piece it together; she'd known from one look the other night that he was in love, and now she knew with whom.

She put down the notebook for a moment and pinched the bridge of her nose, catching sight of something when she pulled her hand away. Blood. She still had some of Caroline's blood caked underneath her fingernails. Checking to make sure Niklaus was still nose-deep in a book he'd found on the mantlepiece and had been pretending to read for the past hour, she ran the end of her pen under her nails and let the dried blood collect on the floor in front of her, closing her eyes and concentrating on the life it was connected to. This was a trick she'd learned a few decades ago; she could find anyone with just a sliver of their DNA, as long as they weren't magickally hidden from her. It took her only a few seconds to lock on to Caroline's location, pulling on it like one end of a rope until a picture formed in front of her eyes.

Caroline was in her own home, in her bed, crying and twisting like she was trying to escape her own skin. The painkiller Kamila had given her had obviously worn off and the girl was suffering. Some vampires could go days with the poison in their system, but some only lasted hours, and she worried that Caroline was the latter of the two. Above her, Tyler had one of her hands sandwiched between both of his, his lips pressed to her fingertips and tears in his eyes. He knew he was losing her, and his helplessness was palpable. She felt for them, and the young love that was soon to be snuffed out if she didn't think of something fast. And more than that, Niklaus would lose the woman he loved as well. Even if he pretended it didn't matter to him, she knew it did; she knew he'd regret it for the rest of his very long life.

She blinked the vision away and drew the notebook back toward her, flicking the last of the blood off of her pen so she could continue writing. She tore out another page, smashed it into a ball, and threw it into the fire, where it disappeared almost instantly.

* * *

"This isn't your fault," Caroline said weakly, reaching up to trace the line of Tyler's jaw with her index finger. Inside, everything was on fire, but if she'd learned one thing since becoming a vampire, it was how to be strong for other people. "I don't want you to blame yourself, okay?"

"But it is," Tyler said lowly, a tear slipping down his cheek. "I was the one who insisted on staying in the house, gloating, goading him on. We shouldn't even have been there. I'm so sorry, Ca-" He cut himself off with a violent cough. He cleared his throat and tried again, "I'm sor-" Another cough wracked his body, then another and another until he was on all fours on the floor, gagging and spitting and choking on something.

"Tyler!" Caroline gasped, leaning over the edge of the bed to see him. With one last violent cough, he dislodged the foreign object from the back of his throat and onto the floor in front of him. He reached for it, bringing himself up to sit back down on the bed. It was a piece of paper, crumpled and lined, with ragged edges like it had been torn from a notebook. He gave Caroline a confused glance before carefully unfolding the paper and flattening it out on his lap.

He read it twice and then looked at Caroline again, eyes wide. "What is it?" She asked worriedly, to which his only reply was to turn the paper so she could see.

**I need you to trust me**, it read, **And bring Caroline back to the house. Put her within the barrier, then leave. He won't watch her die. I'm confident he'll save her. -K.R.**

Tyler swallowed and stared at the paper, "Do you trust her?"

"I don't know," Caroline answered helplessly.

He nodded and folded the paper into a small square, sliding it into his pocket. "Then trust me."

* * *

Klaus had started pacing again, back and forth in front of the windows while Kamila continued to struggle through her spellcrafting. He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Tyler carrying Caroline, then he laid her just within the barrier and backed away. "You wanna be in control, Klaus?" He said, putting his hands out, "Here – now you get to be in control of her life. If you want her to die, fine," it pained him to say the words, and it pained Klaus to hear them, but neither of them let it show. "But then you can sit here and watch her die yourself." He glanced at Kamila but she didn't return his gaze, then left the way he'd come.

Klaus was shaken – this wasn't the plan, he wasn't supposed to have to see her go – but he forced himself to remain cool and collected. "Nothing personal, love," he took a few steps toward her and perched on the edge of the coffee table, "But if I cure you, that means victory for him. Don't worry; it won't be long now." He sat there staring as she lay on the floor, gasping and choking back sobs because she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

"Christ almighty," Kamila threw the notebook and pen down on the floor and stood, walking over to the young vampire and kneeling next to her. "Move," she told Klaus as she twined one arm under the girl's legs and the other behind her back. She lifted her in a swift, easy move and turned. "Move,"she barked again, and this time he stood up and stepped to the side so she could squeeze past him and lay Caroline on the couch.

"You should be less worried about her comfort and more worried about your spell," Klaus said over her shoulder. "After all, the sooner you get me out, the sooner she gets cured."

Kamila turned on him and her eyes were that deep, black-green again. He'd thought he was familiar with every shade of green her eyes could take, but this was new to him. "I'll be lucky to have the spell done within the next day, and we both no she ain't gonna last that long, so why don't you just be decent and keep your mouth shut?" Her jaw was tight and her mouth was curved in a worried frown, but when she turned back to Caroline, she gave her a little wink. Caroline, in turn, gave her a small smile.

"Move again – lord, you are always in the way." Kamila shoved past Klaus and reclaimed her place in front of the fire, writing some more as the fire hissed and spat in front of her. In reality, she could start her spell now and have him out by midnight, but she wanted him to cure Caroline on his own. Maybe she was being foolish in gambling with the girl's life, but she had faith. Something of the man she'd once known had to be in there somewhere, and if he really loved this girl as much as Kamila suspected he did, he'd let that part of his old self out.


	8. Trust Issues

**A/N:** _Just in case anyone wanted a visual aid for Kamila (because personally, it's easier for me to get into a story when I can assign a face to a name), I modeled her after Navi Rawat. I know that Navi is not Italian, but she's what I imagine Kamila looking like. I even got bored in Photoshop one night and did some edits. You can find them on my author page!_

* * *

_**"Trust Issues"**_

Kamila extended her hands, palms up with her fingers slanted into a large Tupperware bowl, and blew on them. The pale gray grit that stuck to them unattached and settled onto the pile beneath – the remains of Kol Mikaelson. She'd gone outside half an hour after Tyler brought Caroline back to the house, hoping that in her absence Niklaus wouldn't feel ashamed about healing the girl. Unfortunately, when Kamila returned with the ashes, he was still leaning against the wall and Caroline was still panting half-conscious on the couch.

"Here," she thrust the bowl of ashes into Niklaus's hands as she passed him, "There weren't any spare urns lying around, so I made due. You can spring for something fancier later." She walked over to the couch and perched on the spare space, extending a hand to brush some of Caroline's hair out of her face. "Hanging in there, _cher_?"

The girl nodded once, but then her face crumpled and she began to cry, shaking her head. "It hurts," she said weakly. "Can you make it not hurt again?"

Kamila bit her lip and broke eye contact, "I'm sorry, Caroline, but it barely worked when you were first bitten. I doubt it'd have much effect now."

"The only thing Kamila can do for you now," Niklaus said from where he stood, not looking at either of them, "Is stop playing nurse and finish writing that spell."

She turned and glared at him, "I'm still hours away at _best_, Niklaus."

"Well, then it looks like this is one new friend you won't get to make."

In a huff, Kamila grabbed the notebook and went to sit on the loveseat in the sitting room past the barrier. She picked up where she'd left off – writing out incantations in a mixture of Italian, Latin, and Gaelic, and tracing invisible runes over certain sections with her index finger to give them power. She was starting the spell in secret, as a precaution; if she got the barriers down, then Niklaus would heal Caroline anyway. If he did it on his own accord in the meantime, that was just a bonus.

"What are you doing?" He demanded suddenly.

She swore to herself; why, after almost two hundred years, could she not figure out a way to keep her magick from smelling like a fresh baked pear cobbler? Kip, the only other Given witch she'd ever encountered, smelled of apples and peat moss when she worked magick – it was some strange side effect of being personally gifted with Power, though neither of them could figure as to why. "I'm reaching out to Mother," she lied, "Trying to draw on Her for some insight. It takes a bit of Power."

"Ah," he rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, "Well, I hope mummy dearest gives you some good, wholesome advice."

She gave him a rude look. "I'm going into a trance now; you remember how to wake me up if you need me?" She really intended to go into a trance, but not for the reason she claimed.

"_Il sonno di stelle cadenti_," he confirmed, "Say it twice and clap. You'd think you could come up with a wake up call that didn't resemble the Hokey Pokey." But she was already under, eyes glazed over and pen poised over the notebook. Five minutes passed and she stayed frozen like a statue on display.

The world around her faded away, first going fuzzy, then darkening at the edges until it was just her, suspended in an endless black. She visualized the words she'd written on the page and they appeared in front of her, pale blue and glowing in her own handwriting. She imagined them in the order they needed to be, placing them around her to the north, east, south and west positions. Then she added the runes, which glowed green, and situated them the same way. Once everything was in place, she began building a world around her incantation – specific colors and plants and stones, summoning the essence of everything she needed to execute her spell. One of the advantages to being a Given – a witch who was gifted with Power as opposed to being born with it – was that she was constantly connected with Nature. She didn't have to have, say, a sprig from a cherry blossom tree in her hand in order to harness the properties of it, or have a specific stone to draw from its energy; all she had to do was slip into her private world and find them there, and pull their essences back through with her.

It took her almost an hour to get everything in its proper place, and all she needed to do was ignite the spell to set it in motion, but she waited. Reaching out with her mind, she created a sort of window in her fabricated world that allowed her to look through to the real one. It was like a television set in reverse; instead of watching the show, the show was watching you.

* * *

Caroline had reached an odd state of calm and her body had numbed; neither of which she considered a good sign, but it did put her in a position where she could speak without screaming out in pain. She was still laying on the couch, staring at Klaus as he watched Kamila in her trance. "If you don't feed me your blood," she called out as strongly as she could to get his attention; it was still little more than a whisper, "I'll die."

"Then you'll die," he said immediately, putting on a good show of pretending not to care but he was still unable to look at her. "And Tyler will have learned his lesson the hard way."

She took in labored breaths that rattled all the way down through her body. "How could you do this to us?" She asked, "To his mom? To me?"

"I'm a thousand years old; call it boredom."

She blinked heavily, "I don't believe you."

"Fine," Klaus submitted, "Then maybe it's because I'm pure evil, and I can't help myself." He hated saying those words, though he couldn't identify why. He'd never had any reservations about his personality – he wasn't a good person, and he was okay with that. He did what needed to be done to satisfy his own agenda, everyone else in the world be damned. So why should it feel wrong now, to think of himself as evil?

"No," Caroline insisted, "It's because...you're hurt." This caught Klaus's interest and he finally turned to look at her. It was getting harder and harder for her to get her words out, but she pressed on, seeing the torn look in his eyes. "Which means that there is a part of you that is human."

There was a time when he'd thought that only Kamila was capable of saying things that could surprise and intrigue him. He'd gone almost two hundred years believing that, and then he'd met Caroline Forbes – he could never predict the words that would come out of her mouth, and this was no exception. He pushed himself off from the wall and made his way over to her, sitting down on the coffee table. "How could you possibly think that?"

"Because I've seen it." She looked him up and down, not wanting to admit what she was about to, but hell, if she was going to die anyway she might as well go out with no secrets. "Because...I've caught myself wishing that I could forget all the horrible things that you've done."

It was what he'd always wanted to hear, and at the same time the worst possible thing she could have said to him. "But you can't," he said with a slight waver to his voice, "Can you?" He didn't want to hear the answer; he already knew that she couldn't.

She stared at him for a beat and, instead of answering his question, she said something else that surprised him. "I know that you're in love with me." He held her gaze wordlessly, because he couldn't deny it with any sort of conviction. "And anybody capable of love...is capable...of being saved."

He took in a deep, shuddering breath and looked away, willing away the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. "You're hallucinating," he tried to pass it off. It was easier than facing the idea that some humanity still existed within him.

Caroline let out a little wheeze that may have been meant as a laugh, "I guess I'll never know." Then all of her energy was gone and her eyelids slipped shut, her chest tightening and all her muscles seizing at once. She gasped and arched, feeling the life leave her body bit by bit until it all went dark.

"Caroline?" Klaus asked softly, eyes widening as he looked at her. She didn't respond; she just lay there, breathing out gasping hiccups and jerking from the spasms. "Caroline," he tried again. Her body stilled and her breathing stopped altogether – she was going. He stared at her while he warred with himself: He couldn't let Tyler and the others think they had power over him, but at the same time...

But at the same time, it was Caroline. There was no other rationalization to it – no ulterior motive in which she would be of benefit to him in his insidious ploys. It was just that: It was Caroline, and he couldn't watch her die.

He lifted her and sat on the far end of the couch, letting her torso rest against his chest as he pulled back his sleeve and sank his teeth into his wrist. He held the wound to her lips and let out a sigh of gratitude when, after a moment, the blood ran down her throat and she began to react. She jolted back to consciousness, her hands coming up to hold his wrist in place and she clung to the life that had been restored in her. She drank deeply, making grateful, hungry little noises while her nails dug into the flesh of his arm. Klaus rested his chin on the top of her head, bringing his free hand up to run over her hair, stroking the soft blonde locks and thanking everything in the universe that he hadn't been too late.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as her hair slipped through his fingers. He tilted his chin down so his lips were touching the crown of her head, "I'm so sorry, love."

She gave no indication that she heard him, or that she acknowledged his presence at all. She was too focused on getting her fill of the healing blood, feeling it chase away the venom that had been burning through her veins. She drank until she was full and all her pain was gone, and all that remained was exhaustion. Without a thought, she gave into it, slumping back against the body behind her and closing her eyes as a deep sleep took her. Klaus continued to hold her in his arms, much the way Kamila had held him the night before, keeping her safe even though he was the biggest threat to be found in their huge, mad world.

* * *

Kamila snapped the peephole shut with a smile, relieved that she'd been right after all. She took a deep breath and readied herself, holding her hands palms up in front of her stomach and concentrating all of her Power there. With a steady exhale, she released it, igniting the spell she'd crafted around herself. It pulled in the properties of the plants, the stones, the words, the runes, all directed at the barrier that held Niklaus in. It was like creating a computer virus that used the computer's own firewall against itself, her spell entering the barrier and manipulating it's Power, adding to it until it overloaded. Kamila felt it crack – just the smallest of spiderwebs in one corner of the invisible box – and she focused all of her remaining energy at that crack, shattering the barrier completely.

She dismantled her world carefully, giving her thanks to all of the Natural objects whose properties she'd drawn from, and slowly came out of her trance. What had seemed like mere seconds to her had in fact been a few hours and Caroline was still fast asleep on the couch, Niklaus sitting on the floor in front of her, barely awake but keeping his eyes firmly set on the girl. As Kamila eased herself into a standing position, joints popping and creaking from staying still for so long, Niklaus turned his head a little to look at her.

"The bakery smell is overwhelming," he said quietly.

"Mm," Kamila nodded in agreement as the scent tickled her nose, "It's making me hungry. What do you say we go get us some pie?" He raised his eyebrows optimistically, and she nodded in response.

He got to his feet, causing Caroline to stir and open her eyes, and walked to where the barrier had been, stepping through the to sitting room. "I knew you'd be able to do it, Kamila," he said with a smile. "Now," he rubbed his hands together anxiously, "Time to teach that ungrateful little hybrid of mine a les-"

He was cut off when Kamila's fist struck him hard in the jaw, snapping his head to the side. He hadn't been expecting it, which made it actually hurt, and he brought one hand up to cradle the offended area. "What do you think you're doing?" He demanded, a quick yellow hue flashing around his eyes before disappearing.

"Niklaus Mikaelson," Kamila said in a disapproving-parent sort of tone, "In 1822, we both made some promises to each other. One of the promises you made was to never try and force me to use my magick in a way that made me uncomfortable. You broke that promise," she stared him down with those haunting, near-black eyes, "So it seems only fitting that I break one of mine."

"Oh?" He met her challenging gaze, "And which one might that be?"

"That I'd never do this." In one swift move, she closed one hand around the back of his neck and forced him to look at the other hand, opening it to release the bright flash of hypnotizing light. Seeing his pupils dilate, she said, "You will not go after Tyler Lockwood."

"I will not go after Tyler Lockwood," he repeated through gritted teeth, pulling away from her and looking wholly betrayed. "You know that little parlor trick won't last long on me."

She shook her head in agreement, "No, but it'll give the poor boy at least a few days."

Behind him, Niklaus heard Caroline breathe out a joyful sigh of relief. This only fueled his anger. "I thought you weren't taking sides, Kamila."

"I'm not," she insisted, "I'm just keeping you from doing something that you'll potentially come to regret."

"And why would I regret ripping the heart out of that arrogant little swine?"

"Because he..." Kamila trailed off, face paling and eyes rolling back in her head. She'd been going at it for almost two days straight now, and every last ounce of energy in her body had been depleted. Her knees gave out from under her and she collapsed, and Niklaus immediately put out his arms to catch her and pull her to him.

"Kamila!" All of his anger, his irritation, his hatred faded away, replaced with concern. "Kamila, can you hear me?"

Caroline was at his side in a flash, leaning in to examine the woman. "Is she okay?"

He listened closely and he was able to hear the steady thumping of her heart. "She's alive," he confirmed, "She's exhausted herself. She just needs to sleep." With one last sparing glance to Caroline, he picking Kamila up and left with her, leaving only a faint breeze where their bodies had once been.

And while Caroline's first reaction should have been to call Tyler to let him know she was okay, or Bonnie to let her know Klaus was free, all she could think about was how grateful she was. Grateful to Kamila for telling her to return to the house. Grateful to Klaus for saving her. And then worried, because even though she knew she should be cautious of Kamila, she felt something for her, and wanted desperately for her to be okay.

* * *

It was the middle of the next day by the time Kamila woke, sunlight streaming through the blinds of a large window to her left. She was in a large, comfortable bed with impossibly soft white sheets and giant-sized pillows. She was warm, and after she'd blinked all the sleep from her eyes she realized she knew the quilt she'd tucked under. "You're finally awake," Niklaus's voice surprised her, and she turned her head to see him slumped in a chair in the corner of the room, cheek rested on his hand. "You slept for almost thirteen hours."

She rolled onto her side and gathered the blanket up around her. Instead of replying to his observation, she said, "I can't believe you still have this old thing." She ran her hand over one of the top corner squares – it was dark blue cloth with a feather stitched in golden thread, and her fingers remembered it well.

"You made it for me," he said, without emotion, "Can't I be sentimental?"

"Absolutely," she immediately replied with a smile, "In fact, I encourage it." Then she caught sight of his expression – drawn and tense – and she sat up, her hair falling around her face in a wild, tangled mess. "What's wrong?"

He lifted his head from his hand and shifted so he was upright, "Something of mine was taken while I was trapped in the Gilbert house. I'm fairly confident that Tyler Lockwood is responsible, but thanks to someone, I can't go after him to retrieve my property. I've been trying for hours," he added bitterly, more to himself than to her, "But every time I make up my mind to go find him, my feet suddenly stop cooperating."

Kamila relaxed a little and started finger-combing her hair, then pulled it over her shoulder and began braiding it. "If you're waiting on me to apologize for Sparking you, you can forget about it; it was for your own good." She secured the braid and rolled her eyes, "Play it out in your head, genius: You kill Tyler Lockwood – you take away Caroline's boyfriend and high school love – what do you think her reaction is going to be? It's not gonna drive her into your arms; it's gonna push her away. She'll never love you."

Niklaus's eyes hardened and Kamila could see that today wasn't going to be her day to get him to open up about his romantic feelings. He stood wordlessly and started for the door. "Wait," Kamila sighed, relenting. When he looked at her, she asked, "What did he take?"

"The hunter's sword," he replied angrily, towering over her, "The key to finding the cure. And if it's in Tyler Lockwood's hands, I am out of leverage. So let me out of the spell so I can go get it back."

She shook her head, "I'm sorry, Niklaus; I can't do that. If the Spark is stopping you, it's because you don't _just_ intend to get the sword back. You're gonna try to hurt him, and I won't allow it." She leaned back against the headboard and chewed on her thumbnail, thinking while he seethed above her. "But maybe I can help," she said softly, formulating the plan as she spoke. She held out her hand, "Give me your phone."

"What are you going to do?" He asked, but handed her his phone anyway.

She held up a finger for him to be quiet as she scrolled through his contacts, selecting a number and dialing it. "I hate these things," she murmured as she tried to figure out how to put it on speaker, succeeding right as someone picked up on the other end.

"What do you want, Klaus?"

"Caroline, hi," Kamila said, "This is Kamila; how are you feeling? All healed up?"

There was a pause, and then a slow, "Yeah, I'm fine now, thanks. How about you? You gave Klaus a pretty big scare, fainting like that."

Kamila smirked at Niklaus, who rolled his eyes and looked away. "I'm fine, sweetheart, thanks for asking. I was just running on fumes, I suppose."

"Hm," Caroline trailed off, then after a moment asked, "Did you really just call to ask how I was feeling, or is there something you wanted?"

"There is, actually," she said, pulling the quilt back and standing, putting the phone on the nightstand so she could stretch her arms and her back. "Your fella wouldn't happen to be in possession of a very old sword, would he?" There was no answer, which was an answer in and of itself. "Caroline, I'd like to make a deal with you," she coaxed.

"What kind of deal?"

"You and Tyler meet Niklaus and I, and together we figure out how the sword leads to the cure." Niklaus gave her a look that said they would never agree to that, and Caroline echoed the sentiment. Kamila picked the phone up and shook her head impatiently, "Sweetheart, Niklaus and I got years on y'all; we can see things you can't."

Everything became muffled as Caroline put her hand over the receiver to consult with Tyler. When she came back on, she said, "I'm sorry – you seem really nice and everything, and I appreciate what you did for me and Tyler yesterday, but you're with Klaus and we can't trust you."

"Fair enough," Kamila reasoned, "But let's put it this way: What have you figured out from the sword so far?"

Another pause, then, "We found a cryptex in the hilt. You turn the different sides with the different symbols to get the translation on the other side. And with the magic of the Internet, Elena sent us pictures of Jeremy's hunter's mark, so now all we have to do is cryptex away." It sounded simple, but there was hesitation in her voice and Kamila heard it.

"But..." she said leadingly.

Caroline sighed – a loud, noisy whistling in her ear. "But the translation is...unreadable. It's just...squiggles and gibberish to us."

Now it was Niklaus's turn to smirk. "Considering the origins of the Five, might I suggest using the 'magic of the Internet' to purchase an Aramaic-to-English dictionary from your nearest retailer."

In the background, Tyler said slowly, "What's Aramaic?"

Caroline replied in an equally slow voice, wrapping her head around it. "It's a dead language; it hasn't been used since, like, biblical times.

"Ketsia's native tongue, I'm guessing." Niklaus stood close to Kamila, angling his head so he could speak more directly into the phone. "You know, even if you had the best dictionary in the world, it could take days to translate. Perhaps weeks." He put on a heavy sigh but gave Kamila a wink, "_In bas so-teen-too Ara-ma-eet_."

"What does that mean?" Caroline asked helplessly.

"'If only you spoke Aramaic,'" Kamila supplied, giving Niklaus a sharp elbow to the ribs to wipe the smile from his face. "Listen, _cher_, just meet us, all right? I'll keep Niklaus on a leash; he won't be able to hurt Tyler." There was such a long silence on Caroline's end that Kamila wondered for a moment if she'd hung up. "Caroline, hello?"

"Give me your word," was the reply she received.

"I swear to you, he will not hurt Tyler."

"How do I know I can trust you?" Caroline asked in a breathless, humorless laugh.

Kamila glanced at Niklaus, then back to the phone. "You're alive, aren't you?"

Caroline considered this and finally agreed, "Fine. We might as well take advantage of Elena's house, since Klaus has already been invited in; meet us there in an hour." Then she hung up.

Kamila smiled and clapped Niklaus on the shoulder, "Well, there you go! I should probably get dressed. Please tell me you drove my truck here; all my bags were in the back."

She started for the door, but was stopped when his hand closed around her upper arm, holding her in place. "What did you mean," he asked when she faced him, "When you said 'you're alive, aren't you'? You didn't save her life."

Kamila hung her head and bit down on her inside of her cheek. Her eyes flicked up to meet his and she asked, "No lies?"

"No lies," he ordered.

"I told Tyler to bring her back to the house," she confessed, "I knew you wouldn't watch her die."

His jaw tightened and he glowered at her, "You had no right." His hand tightened around her arm, nails sinking into the flesh and drawing blood, "You had _no right_ to undermine me. You've been here less than a week, and so far you've done nothing but interfere in all of my plans."

"What plans?" She countered, struggling to extract herself from his grip but failing. "Without me showing up, you'd still be trapped in a magick box, Caroline would be dead, and you'd be wasting all of your energy hunting down the only hybrid you've got left. Maybe I've _interfered_," she told him snidely, "But it's all been for your own good." She stared him down and he stared back, unable to argue with her. "Now," she said slowly, "Are you gonna let me go on your own, or am I gonna make you?"

He pressed his lips together tightly and released her, watching as she ran a hand over the cuts and fingerprint-shaped bruises. She couldn't heal herself, he remembered. And though being a werewolf meant the injuries would disappear within a day or two, being a human meant they'd still ache until they were gone. "Tell me something, Kamila," he said through gritted teeth, changing the subject, "And no lies. Why do you really want to be made into a hybrid? Why do you need the amplified Power?"

The question hit her out of nowhere and she sucked in a deep breath, wanting desperately to lie but knowing that, if she did, he would know and she would never have his trust again. Tears were welling in her eyes but she blinked them back, looking up toward the ceiling as she remembered. "Within two years of you leaving New Orleans," she cleared her throat, "Tasso and Brunela both triggered the curse. Tasso got into a fight after school one day and hit another boy too hard – Brunela accidentally tripped Miss Nana one day on the stairs and she fell and broke her neck. But they stayed good," she felt the need to add insistently, "They didn't go like Uberto did; they stayed sweet and idealistic and...well, you remember how they were, Niklaus. Just the most amazing kids in the world; they never changed.

"But then the pack got too big," she licked her lips and looked down at the floor. "The mornings after full moons, there were more injured than I could heal, more dead than we could explain away. Even in New Orleans, people noticed, and eventually they put it all together. Six years after you left, they came after the pack on the night of a full moon." Tears started spilling over, tracing down her cheeks and curling around her jaw. "I woke up the next morning, but they..." She choked on the words, cleared her throat again, and forced them out, "They didn't. Brunela, Tasso, Uberto, and six others from my pack – we found 'em speared into the ground with silver spikes, long dead by the time I got to 'em.

"That's why I need more Power," she said firmly, sniffling and wiping at her eyes. "I've lost a lot of people in my life, Niklaus – including a husband and a child – but my brother and sister were only twenty-one years old. There was so much good in them that never got to be used. I'm going to bring them back," she said with a nod, looking up to meet his gaze, "With more Power, I can _bring them back_. And you will not stand in my way."


	9. Living, Losing, and Other Harsh Words

**A/N:** _Another long one, folks. Buckle in._

* * *

_**"Living, Losing, and Other Harsh Words"**_

Klaus watched his old friend from the passenger side of her truck as she gripped the steering wheel with both hands and gave more focus to the road than was necessary. They hadn't said a word to each other since she told him about the loss of her siblings, but the story had been rolling around in his head for the past forty-five minutes. He'd spent every day of five years with Kamila, and a large number of those days were spent with Tasso and Brunela Parisi as well. They were children when he met them, and had grown to teenagers before his very eyes – he'd felt as close to them as if they were his own brother and sister. Of course he'd known that they must be dead by now, but hearing they'd been slaughtered so young, so brutally, and for something they couldn't control... It ignited a sorrow in him that made him feel ridiculous. Mourning the loss of two werewolves that he'd only known for half a decade, and had died almost two centuries before.

He also couldn't stop himself from thinking about Kamila's plan to bring them back, and all of the variables involved that could fall through. He was trying to think of a way to vocalize this when she pulled over in front of the Gilbert house and cut the engine. "They're not here yet," she noted without emotion, squinting at the empty driveway.

"I'm sorry," the words fell from Klaus's lips without his permission, "About your brother and sister."

"Thanks," she replied shortly, still watching the driveway.

He stared out the windshield for a moment, then looked back at her. "But even if you do manage to cheat the balance and keep your Power as a hybrid, what makes you think you could bring them back? It's one of the ultimate laws of Nature; the dead stay dead."

She gave a sudden, incredulous laugh and finally turned her eyes to him. "How can you even say that? Did _you_ stay dead? Did Caroline Forbes, or Elena Gilbert?"

"We rose again, but we're still dead, Kamila," he insisted gently, "We're came back cold and imperfect and only a fraction of the people we used to be. Humans don't die and come back human – not without consequences."

"I can do it," Kamila told him in a firm tone. "I have no doubt."

Klaus looked back out the windshield as Caroline's small blue car turned the corner and came toward them. "I just don't want to see you give up your mortality for something that might not work," he said before popping open his door and stepping out onto the sidewalk. Caroline parked in the driveway and she and Tyler appeared, the sword wrapped in a blanket and held to Tyler's chest. He went to take a few steps toward them, then felt as if he'd reached the end of a rope and could go no further. "What the-"

"It was the only way I could guarantee Tyler's safety," Kamila said as she circled the truck. Klaus felt a little slack and was able to move another few feet before he was stopped again. "I tethered us together," she continued, "You can't be more than five feet from me, for the time being."

He let out an annoyed sigh, "I'm growing weary of you using your magick on me."

"Trust me, I don't like having to do it. Did you hear that?" She called out to the two teenagers who watched them now from the front porch. "He's still under command not to harm Tyler, but just in case, you should stay five feet away at all times."

Caroline smiled weakly and nodded, "Thanks." She flipped through her keyring until she found a spare key to Elena's house and unlocked the door, pushing it open and entering before Kamila and Klaus followed up the steps. Klaus, understandably, did not want to go into the living room, so instead he plopped down on the loveseat in the sitting room and crossed his arms behind his head. He knew he had to keep up appearances, especially with Kamila around; he couldn't give them any more reasons to doubt his resolve. He was still the Big Bad Wolf, and they were the ones living in straw houses.

"So," he said cheerily as Caroline and Tyler shifted nervously in the adjoining room, "Let's see this cryptex of yours."

Caroline took the sword from Tyler and unfolded the blanket to retrieve it, taking a step forward before stopping and judging the distance between herself and Kamila. "Um, here," she wrapped her hand around the blade of the sword and tossed it carefully over the distance so the witch could catch it by the hilt. "It's under the leather."

Kamila rested the point against the floor and unwrapped the tightly wound leather from the hilt, revealing a carved wooden core covered by an intricate steel skeleton. "Yep," she said over her shoulder to Klaus, "A combination of runic and Aramaic."

"Can't you just help us?" Tyler voiced, arms crossed over his chest. "I mean, you knew what he was saying earlier, right? So you know Aramaic."

She shook her head, "'Fraid it doesn't work that way. Spoken words have their own magick, and as a witch you learn to tune into that and understand the meaning of the words, no matter the language. Speaking and reading them, however," she narrowed her eyes at the geometric shapes carved into the wood, "Is a different matter. Niklaus can speak, read, and understand Aramaic."

Klaus grinned cockily from the loveseat, "That's right." He jumped up and went to stand next to Kamila, looking down at the sword, then to Caroline. "Did you bring the hunter's mark photos?"

She nodded and went back to her bag, taking out a folder and pulling out not only the pictures, but index cards with thick black symbols and writing underneath. "We were working on it all morning," she explained, though she only seemed to be speaking to Kamila. She laid the cards out over their corresponding photos, "And when you guys said Aramaic, I tried to translate them online, but..." she trailed off with a shrug and a sigh. She took a few breaths before continuing, "This is what we got: 'Passage inside requires a young senator and a pretty flower.' None of it makes sense," she admitted, shaking her head.

"_Na-zim she-da a sheen-ta oo-sa-eet-da jo-koon-she_," Klaus said clearly as he looked at the symbols across the room and turned the wooden cryptex accordingly. "'Requires a Powerful witch and a hunter in full bloom.' Very close, though. Caroline," he said in a sugary sweet voice, "Could you hold up the next photo, please?" Reluctantly, the young woman lifted the next image of the tattoo so he could see. He continued turning the device, reading off the translations. "'Silas rests on the far side, the means of his destruction at hand.'" He turned it to the right, "'The top of the hilt reveals a key to a nautical map.'" He turned it to the left and, after studying it for a moment, found a thin peace of metal beneath and twisted it to the right. There were a few symbols etched into it, and he felt his eyes widen, "There's something else."

Kamila had perched on the arm of the loveseat, but stood back up at his last statement. Caroline and Tyler exchanged a glance, wondering if they should feel worried or excited. "What is it?" The girl asked after a moment of silence.

"_Ba-seem bay-see-les be-ha-da et bes har-der-mon_."

"What does it mean?" Caroline asked, receiving only a smirk in response. "Klaus, what does it mean?" She repeated more forcefully.

His grin grew wider, "'And he had means for his destruction alone.'" He raised his eyebrows and clarified, "There is only one dose of the cure."

There was a moment of stillness in the room as everyone absorbed the information. Then Caroline threw the photos the ground and stomped down on them, hard, her boot leaving an imprint in the gloss. "Dammit!" She shouted, whipping around and pressing the heel of her palm against her forehead, "Why does it always have to be like this? Why can't _every_one just win for_ once_?!"

Klaus faltered and the smile fell from his face, and he had to look away so they wouldn't notice. "Ketsia had no reason to leave him with more than one cure," he said casually, but his voice had lost all amusement. "She'd never intended it to be used by anyone else but him. You should have taken that into consideration."

"Did you?" Tyler countered as he went to put his arms around Caroline. Klaus stayed silent, listening as the girl pulled in deep breaths and pulled herself together. After a few moments, she pulled away from her boyfriend and went to get her laptop from her bag, opening it and typing up a few things.

"We still have to tell the others where to find it," she said with a firm nod, like she was telling herself instead of them. "They can bring it back and Elena can take it and..." She blew out a breath and ran a hand through her hair, repeating, "We still have to tell them."

Tyler fixed Klaus in a hard glare, "You can go now." Still, Klaus said nothing. Tyler looked at Kamila, but she shrugged in response, curious as to what was going on in her friend's head.

Caroline finished typing a pulled out her phone, selecting a contact and putting it on speakerphone. "Hello?" A low, accented voice answered.

"Hey, it's Caroline," she said, "We have the translation of the tattoo. We're e-mailing you pictures of the map and instructions right now." She held the phone between her shoulder and ear as she ran her finger over the trackpad on her laptop, sending the documents.

On the other end there was a _ping_ and Rebekah said, "Got it. Thanks."

"Actually," Klaus finally spoke at the sound of his sister's voice, "It was me.

"Nik, you helped?" She asked in disbelief.

"You sound so surprised, little sister." He wrapped the leather back around the hilt of the sword and rested it against the back of the loveseat.

They could practically hear her rolling her eyes, "Shouldn't I be? I mean, you don't want me to be human – you don't want _any_ of us to be human – why would you help us find the cure?"

Klaus shrugged even though she couldn't see it. "Maybe I finally realized the longer I stand in the way of what you want, the longer you'll continue to hate me. Perhaps I want my sister to finally known happiness."

"Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me a hundred times-"

"No more fooling," he insisted, his eyes flickering to the two teenagers in the living room. "No more games," he continued to his sister, "I hope you get to live – and die – as you wish."

Rebekah considered this for a moment, then said, "So do I?"

Klaus could feel the conversation winding down, and he decided it was time to make his move. "There is," he said before she could hang up, "One more thing, Rebekah." He drew in a breath and said quickly, "There is only one dose of the cure; you need to find it first and take it. It's the only way you'll-" He cut himself off as Caroline and Tyler both scrambled for the phone until one of them found the End button and disconnected the call. Still, she'd heard enough. Good old selfish Rebekah – she would ensure that there was no cure to make it back to him, and he would never have to worry about being made human. Even if it meant never getting his doppelganger back, he was preserving himself.

In the next room, Caroline and Tyler seemed to come to the same conclusion, exchanging looks of concern. Kamila was watching Klaus with a mixture of confusion and disappointment, wondering if she would ever be able to truly know the new him.

"Why did you do that?" Caroline breathed, standing up and walking right up to him with no regard for Kamila's five-foot rule. "You know how stubborn Rebekah is; she'll kill the others if she has to, just so she can have the cure. Don't you want Elena to be human again?" She demanded, putting out both hands and shoving him, though barely pushing him back an inch. "Don't you want more hybrids?"

He looked down at her with knowing eyes, "Do you think I'm an idiot? My sister isn't the only stubborn one; there's no way Elena would take the cure if it meant finally getting rid of me once and for all. She'd have insisted you use it on me, and I can't have that, now can I?"

Before she could answer, Tyler called out to her, "Care," and nodded toward the front door. With one last look of despise at Klaus, she went to him and they started for the door. Tyler stopped and looked at Kamila, reluctantly saying, "Can I have a minute?"

"Yeah," was her startled response, "Give me just a sec." He nodded and went outside with Caroline, and Kamila turned to Klaus. She concentrated on the loveseat and murmured, "_Lascio andare la mia cavezza e legarlo così_." Most witches opted for Latin or Gaelic, but she couldn't break away from her Italian roots. Satisfied that her spell was in place, she began following the others out.

"Really?" Klaus said behind her, rolling his eyes, "You've essentially just tied me to a chair." The only response was the door shutting behind her.

* * *

"Every time I think I have him," Tyler was saying when Kamila joined him and Caroline on the porch, "That son of a bitch gets the upper hand."

"We won't let him hurt you," Caroline insisted, looking at the witch, "Right? I mean, you said he's still under that spell, right? You told him he can't come after Tyler."

Kamila shook her head, "I'm sorry, Caroline. With most people, my Spark works just like compulsion – it lasts until I end it. But Niklaus has too many forces working in his favor: His vampire nature, his werewolf nature, and a thousand years of life experience. After a while, his will is gonna win out."

"How long?"

She shrugged, "Couple more days, maybe." They both frowned, and Kamila felt her heart ache for them. "I know it's not much, but I can feel in when the Spark wears off; I can tell you so you know when he becomes a danger again."

Caroline was already shaking her head, "No, no. Stefan and Elena will bring back the cure."

"If they get to it first," Tyler countered. "And if they don't, Klaus kills me. I need to get me and my mom out of town and figure out how I'm gonna keep us alive." He ran his hands through his hair in a gesture of helplessness.

"Wait, hang on," Caroline grabbed his shoulders and gave him one hard shake. "Before you get all doomsday, just at least...let me try and talk to him."

"He's got nothing to lose, Care," Tyler told her, the muscle in his jaw twitching. "His brother's dead, his hybrids are gone – all he wants now is blood, starting with _mine_."

She was staring into his eyes, so deep and intense that Kamila almost felt uncomfortable witnessing the exchange. "I'm not gonna say goodbye to you again," Caroline said softly, "Do you understand me? Let me fix this." After a beat, Tyler finally nodded and leaned in, kissing her quickly before letting her pull him into a tight embrace. Then he pulled away and told her he needed to go talk to his mom, and Caroline gave him her car keys and another light kiss before he left.

"Kamila," she said once he was gone, turning to the woman, "Tell me this will work. You know Klaus better than anyone – tell me there's some part of him that can be convinced to let this go."

Kamila walked past her and sat down on the porch swing, sighing deeply. "You know what I've come to realize in the week I've been here, _cher_?"

"What?" Caroline sat down next to her.

"That I knew everything there was to know about Niklaus Mikaelson. I knew everything he loved, everything he hated – his passions, his fears, his temperaments. I could predict his actions in a way that had nothing to do with my Power. I could take one look at his face and know everything that was going on in his head. I could count on him to always be there for me. I could look at him, and know that this was a person I knew absolutely and loved unconditionally and was always safe with, and I knew he felt the same way about me."

Caroline watched her with confusion, "But that's good, right?"

Kamila shook her head, "No. Because I've also come to realize that I don't know a damn thing about Klaus." She ran her hand over her jeans and licked her lips, "And in my own way, I'm scared to death of him now. So I can't tell you if there's a part of him that can be convinced to spare Tyler and his mama. I wish I could, though, 'cause I you seem real sweet and I know how badly you want everything to be okay, but I don't wanna lie to you and say it will be."

Caroline surprised her by reaching over and covering one of her hands with her own, squeezing lightly. "I appreciate your honesty," she said quietly. "I guess just...cross your fingers for me, then?"

"Sure," Kamila gave her her best smile of encouragement as the girl stood and went back into the house.

Barely five minutes had passed before Caroline can back out with her jacket and her bag, tears streaming down her face. Kamila had been intentionally deaf to their conversation, because she didn't want her fears to be confirmed; she didn't want to know that this man – this stranger to her that wore the face of her best friend – was really as terrible as she suspected. "Caroline?" She rose from the swing and took a step forward.

"You were right not to lie to me," the girl said through her tears, voice a mix of anger and distress. She let out a light sob and looked around, "I have to go to Tyler's. He has to get out of town." Then she was gone.

Kamila frowned and went back inside, where Klaus was sitting in a chair with a furrowed brow. "_Rilasciare_," she said, and Klaus felt the invisible cord tying him to the chair sever, releasing him. "So," she said as he stood, "She couldn't convince you to spare the Lockwood boy?"

"I extended mercy," he said through a tight jaw, "I told her to tell him to run and hide. I told her I would give him a head start; she should never have expected more."

"I suppose you're right, Klaus," Kamila said, exhausted, and turned away from him.

He didn't say anything for a moment, then asked, "Are you giving up on me already?"

She shrugged, "It wasn't fair of me, coming here and expecting you to be the same person. It wasn't fair of me to expect you to become that person again just because I was around."

"Klaus," he summed up, "Not Niklaus. I heard you before, talking to Caroline." Even though she wasn't facing him, he still felt the need to look away. "Are you really afraid of me?"

She turned back to him, "I don't think you'd hurt me. I don't think you'd destroy me like you've done with the people in this town," she gestured around aimlessly. "But you gotta understand, I spent the last hundred-and-eighty-six years imagining what it would be like when we could be together again, even before I knew you could make hybrids. When I first learned to alter my age, I thought, 'Now I'll get to see Niklaus again someday, and we can keep our promise to each other'. It's what I _always_ thought about. Do you even remember the promise you made me?"

"Which one?" He asked, though he knew very well which one. She leveled him with her gaze, eyes burning a bright, captivating green, and he sighed. "I promised that we would see each other every single day, until we grew tired of each other."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she told him, "I'm afraid that I've spent my entire life dreaming about something that's never gonna happen because we're not us anymore."

Klaus didn't say anything, because what could he say? He wasn't him and she wasn't her, and they weren't them. But he wished they could be. When he went so long without speaking, Kamila tugged at the end of her braid and looked out the window. "I'm staying at the Salvatore boarding house. I'll...I'll just talk to you later, okay?" She gave him a halfhearted wave goodbye and made her way out to her pickup, starting the long and distracted drive back to the empty boarding house.

Halfway there she took out her phone and dialed a number – it went straight to voicemail, but she'd been expecting that. "Caroline, hey, it's Kamila. I hope you don't mind, I got your number out of N—out of Klaus's phone. Look, I just wanted to let you know that, if you need anything, I'm at the boarding house. You know, just in case. And, um," all the emotion of the day weighed on her chest. Talking about Tasso and Brunela. Seeing Caroline – a girl she barely knew but couldn't help but like – cry because she was losing her love. Confronting Klaus. Letting go of the future she'd always imagined. It all slammed into her and froze whatever words she'd intended to say in her throat. "Um, that's it. Okay. Bye."

* * *

Two hours later, Kamila was sprawled out on the floor, her bottle of Jack empty at her side and a bright orange blaze in the fireplace. She wasn't drunk, but she wished she was; it was hard for her to get drunk anymore, after so many years spent building up a tolerance. So she was perfectly coherent when the door opened and footsteps sounded through the hallway. "Caroline," she said, sitting up.

The girl stood before her in a pair of jeans and an oversized sweater, her hair swept back into a messy bun and her makeup smeared from crying. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice thick and nasally, "But I just got your message and you said if I needed anything, this is where you were. And, well," she rubbed at her nose with the cuff of her sweater, "My friends are all out of town and I don't want my mom to worry about me and I just needed someone to talk to."

"Of course," Kamila immediately switched to mothering mode, moving up to the couch and gesturing for Caroline to join her.

Caroline plopped down right next to her. "Tyler's gone," she said, then took a few gulping breaths in an effort to keep herself from crying again. "He and his mom left half an hour ago. I told him not to tell me where," she blinked rapidly, lashes clumped together. "He said that...that I should forget about him, and move on, and have a long and happy life without him. I c-can't," she said breathlessly, shaking her head wildly, "I can't forget about him; I can't have a life without him. I love him." She gave up on fighting herself and started crying again, burying her face in her hands.

Kamila put her arms around the girl and hugged her tightly. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart; I know how badly this hurts."

"How could you know?" Caroline mumbled, "Klaus is your best friend; you've never had to deal with him chasing off the person you love."

"No," Kamila agreed, "But I did _have_ a love-of-my-life, and I did lose him. He died."

"Oh my god," Caroline pulled away and wiped her eyes, wide with shame, "I'm sorry; I say stupid things without thinking sometimes. I didn't mean anyth-"

Kamila raised a hand to cut her off, "It's okay, Caroline. I got fifteen years with him – it made losing him harder, but I wouldn't trade those years for anything."

The girl sniffled and asked, "Is this the part where you tell me it's not the end of the world?"

"No," Kamila laughed lightly, pulling her back into an embrace. "No, _cher_, it is the end of the world, at least for a little while. And there'll be days when you wanna curl up into yourself and disappear because it hurts so much just to be alive."

"For how long?" Caroline whispered.

"No two people heal the same," Kamila told her, smoothing her soft blonde hair down her back. "It might be a week, or a few months, or years. But there's something very important that you need to understand right now: You should never hate yourself for feeling happy. Happiness isn't a betrayal, it's a blessing. And if it's what we'd want for the ones we love if it was us leaving, then it stands to reason that it's what they want for us."

Caroline sniffled and nodded against her shoulder, "That makes sense." She pulled away again to wipe at her eyes, but at least she'd stopped crying. "Tyler told me I shouldn't trust you. He said you seemed nice enough, but ultimately you're Klaus's friend and I shouldn't trust you."

Kamila smiled weakly, more like a twitch than a grin, and said, "If that's what you believe, I won't be mad, but I just ask that you make up your own mind about me."

She thought about this for a moment, then said slowly, "You seem really nice, and there aren't a lot of nice people left in this town anymore. And you haven't given me a reason _not_ to trust you, so I guess until you do..." She trailed off with a small smile.

Kamila returned it. "How about a drink? I hear those wine coolers in the 'fridge are yours."

Caroline laughed, and the sound seemed to surprise her because she stopped suddenly and put her hand to her mouth. "Um," she smiled through her fingers, "Yeah, sure."

"I got this place filled with groceries, too; what's your comfort food?"

Over the next few hours, they went through all six wine coolers, two boxes of macaroni and cheese, four bags of popcorn, half a bottle of scotch, a pint of Rocky Road, and a whole spectrum of emotions. Caroline told Kamila how she and Tyler had known each other their entire lives and always had a sort of distant relationship, because he'd always been arrogant and angry. But when he'd triggered his curse and he didn't have anyone around to help him through it, she was there. She'd held him the first night he changed, when he was screaming out in pain and telling her to leave, she never abandoned him. She talked about how he'd fallen in love with her while she was still with Matt, and – without realizing it, she said – she'd fallen in love with him too. She laughed and cried, she broke things and broke down, she screamed and she went silent. And Kamila kept pace with her the entire time. It felt kind of good to have someone to take care of again, even if it was just for a night.

"What's a glimmer?" Caroline asked as it grew close to ten o'clock. The two of them were sitting on the floor with their backs against the couch, sharing yet another box of mac and cheese straight from the pot.

"It's actually called a glamor," Kamila admitted with a light blush, "But when I learned to do it, I was still mixing up some English words so I always called it a glimmer and I just never broke the habit. But anyway," she waved a hand, "It's just an illusion spell. Making someone see something that isn't there, or making someone _not _see something that _is_ there."

"Like in _The Craft_?" Caroline asked around a mouthful.

"More or less."

She wiggled her eyebrows. "You know," she said slowly, "I've always wanted a nose piercing but always worried that it would look stupid and I'd be stuck with it."

Kamila rolled her eyes and reached out, holding both hands a few inches from either side of the girl's face and concentrating. After a second, she said, "There," and lifted the pot so Caroline's face was reflected in the shining metal.

"Holy crap," the girl laughed, turning her head to the side. "That is _awesome_. I mean, I hate it and I'm so glad I never got my nose pierced, but it's so cool that you can do that! How long does it l—oh, it's gone." She shrugged and stabbed her fork back into the pot, "So is that how you still look like you're in your twenties?"

"No," Kamila shook her head, "If this was just a glimmer, I'd still be decayed underneath it all."

"Then how do you do it?"

"Once a year, I have to go to a special place and draw on Nature's energy, and I'll stay the age I am. If I don't, I just age like any human would." She took a sip of scotch and grimaced at the taste of it combined with the fake cheese in her mouth.

Caroline made a thoughtful noise and took one last bite, then rested the fork in the pot and looked at her watch. "I better get home," she said with a sigh, "Mom's gonna be home from her shift soon, and I guess I need to tell her what's going on." She stood up and hitched her purse over her shoulder, pulling her keyring out and tapping it against her hand. "Thanks for letting me hang out and putting up with all my drama. You don't know me, and you didn't have to, but it means a lot that you did."

Kamila gave her a nod, "Any time."

* * *

Caroline was halfway to her car when she noticed the silhouetted form leaning against it. She had a brief moment of optimism, thinking it might be Tyler, but she knew that form too well. Great. Just what she needed to undo the last few hours. She clenched her teeth, shook her head, and called out, "What are you doing here?"

Klaus pushed off of the car and turned toward her, "I came to see Kamila. I'm a little surprised to find you here, though."

"I needed someone to talk to, considering the day's events," she practically snarled. She looked back at the house and made an incredulous noise, "How long have you been out here? Were you _listening_ to us?"

He shook his head, "I just got here. I think I came in somewhere around you wanting to get your nose pierced. Horrible idea, by the way," he added, "It'd be a shame to mar such a pretty face."

"Don't try to be charming – not today."

Klaus started walking toward her, drawing close, and she instinctively took a step back and an involuntary gasp escaped her lips. He slowed and cocked his head to the side, "Don't worry, love. You know I'd never hurt you."

He took another step forward and she took another back. "You've done enough."

Klaus pressed his lips together and his eyes went dark. "I've done more than enough," he said slowly. "I've shown kindness, forgiveness, pity...because of you, Caroline. It was all for you." He'd finally gotten close enough to stare into her eyes, searching them, trying to find some kind of comprehension in them of everything he'd done for her. She stared back, but there was nothing there. No kindness, no understanding, no gratitude. There was only anger, and pure despisal.

He took in a deep breath, opened his mouth to say something but decided against it, and instead stepped around her and walked toward the house. Behind him, he heard Caroline get into her car and speed off, and he finally exhaled in a shaking burst of air. He hated how she was always able to get to him, and how nothing he did was ever good enough for her. And he hated how it hurt him to see such pain on her face, and know he was the one who put it there.

"Ah, Klaus," Kamila said from the den as he entered, "I thought I heard your voice." She was leaning over, picking up empty food containers and wine cooler bottles and carrying them into the kitchen.

He followed her in and leaned against the door frame, "You know, I don't care for you calling me that."

"It's your name now; it's who you are." She scraped the rest of the macaroni into the trash can and pulled the drawstrings on the bag, securing it and leaning it against the wall. She straightened up and put her hands on her hips, "So what are you doing here?"

Klaus rubbed his thumb and forefinger over his eyes and said, "I don't want you to be afraid of me, Kamila; not in any way." He paused, then continued, "You were right. I do still have some of the doppelganger blood – enough for maybe five doses."

Kamila's arms fell to her side and her eyes – now a bright, vibrant green – widened hopefully. "What're you trying to say, Klaus?"

"I'm saying," he sighed, pushing off of the frame and taking a step toward her, "That I'll change you, if it's what you really want. And when all this mess with the cure has been sorted out-" There was another long pause as he tried to think of way to word what he wanted to say. "Then I will spend every day with you, until you're tired of me. And I'll try to do it without being so awful."

"Really?" The word came out breathless and wavering. Kamila took a few steps forward until she was close enough to wrap her arms around him, and he quickly reciprocated. "What made you change your mind?"

He ran his fingers through her long, dark hair and closed his eyes. "Finding out that you were alive, and remembering how long it took me to recover the first time I lost you. I don't want to go through that again. I can't."

Kamila smiled against his chest, murmuring, "You know, if you showed Caroline Forbes this side of you every once and a while, she might feel different about you."

"I think it's more likely she'd die of shock," Klaus laughed, pulling away to look down at his friend. "So when do you want to make the transition?"

"Soon," she told him, but then shook her head, "But not just yet." When he raised his eyebrows, she explained, "I like Caroline. I know her friends'll be back soon, but if for some reason she needs something from me, I'd like to actually _be_ me." She leaned her head back against his chest, "There's something about that girl that makes her terrifyingly easy to care about."

Klaus made a noise of agreement. "She's the most astounding person I've ever met. Present company excluded."

"You don't have to lie to me, Klaus," Kamila chuckled, looking up at him. "She's the most astounding person you've ever met, period."

"Yes," he admitted softly, "I think you're probably right about that."

* * *

**A/N:**  
_Thus far I've kind of been following the basic plotline of season four, but pretty soon it's going to start veering off with just a little bit of overlap. Don't forget to R&R and let me know what you think!_


	10. Here Today, Gone Tomorrow

_**"Here Today, Gone Tomorrow"**_

"This feels frighteningly domestic," Klaus noted as he squinted in the harsh fluorescent light and followed Kamila across the black and white checkered tile. He'd woken up in the early afternoon with her standing over his bed – a very dangerous position, considering his defensive instincts – with a travel mug of coffee and a familiar twinkle in her eye that told him she had an adventure planned. In the old days, it sometimes meant climbing the tallest walnut tree on the plantation, or borrowing Madame de Lioncourte's boat without her permission to go fishing in the middle of the Lake Pontchartrain. These days, however, her idea of an adventure was to drag him to the grocery store in Mystic Falls.

She spared him a glance over her shoulder, then continued to push the cart in front of her. "When was the last time you did anything domestic, Klaus? Maybe it'll do you good." She grabbed a box of Count Chocula, giggled, and tossed it into the basket, then added a box of GrapeNuts.

"Why do you need two different kinds?" Klaus asked, his chin almost touching her shoulder as he looked into the cart. In secret, part of the reason she'd wanted him to come shopping with him was to see how he reacted in a grocery store. Though most vampires still indulged in human food and Klaus was no exception, he didn't eat often and when he did it was at a restaurant. She was sure he'd never been in the breakfast aisle of a Ralphie Regem 24-Hour Convenience Mart before.

She stopped to study the oatmeal choices and answered, "I'm not actually gonna eat the Count Chocula. I just thought it'd be a hoot for the Salvatores to come home and see on toppa their 'fridge. Juvenile, I know," she winked, "But it still kills me, all the funny little vampires in mass production. Personally," she selected a tub of instant oatmeal and added it to her pile, "I try to keep it healthy as I can, with the exception of a few junk binges like last night. I'm still human, ya know. For now."

Klaus gave her an unreadable look, then turned his attention to something on the shelf as they crossed over to the snack food aisle. "What is god's name are Gushers?" He asked, leaning in close to examine the brightly colored box. When Kamila turned to answer, he had the box in his hand, opened, and was tearing one of the individual bags open with his teeth. He popped a neon green fruit chew into his mouth and his eyes went wide as the liquid inside burst over his tongue. "That is disgusting," he murmured, still chewing, "But oddly tasty."

"Good lord, Klaus," Kamila sighed and snatched the box, "Y'can't just go around opening boxes and trying the food. You're not a five-year-old." She had no choice but to add it to her cart and continue on.

After a few steps, Klaus caught up with her, hands behind his back and a small smile on his face. "You stayed in New Orleans," he said suddenly.

"What?"

"The other day," he clarified, "You said I hadn't asked you the smallest detail about your life since I left, like whether or not you stayed in New Orleans. You did, though; I can tell by the way you talk to me now." He picked up a bag of popcorn kernels and tossed it from hand to hand before dropping it back in its place. "My question is, did you ever go anywhere else?"

She looked at him, surprised, and smiled. "Sure I did – I've been all sorts of places. I've stayed a little while in some places, a little longer in others; I just always go back to New Orleans. It's the first place I ever really felt at home. I spent all of 1889 in Paris, you know," she said with a look of pride, "I was part of the crew that built the Eiffel Tower."

Klaus laughed teasingly, "Remind me never to climb the Eiffel Tower again."

Kamila elbowed him in the ribs, "I wasn't one of the builders, jackass. I was a medic. They called me _l'ange de la porte_."

"The angel of the gate," Klaus he translated, then stopped and turned to face her fully. "_The_ angel of the gate?" She shrugged and he made an impressed noise, "I always assumed it was a legend. The story of a woman who single-handedly rescued thirty-three men from beneath a structural collapse; none of them should have survived, but all of them did. That was you?"

She blushed and looked away, "Yeah. I was feeling a little heroic that day, I suppose."

They walked in silence for a few moments before Klaus stopped again and said, "Wait. I was in Paris in 1887; I left just before they began construction on the Tower. You said my father always had someone following you, so what would have happened if we'd been in the same place at the same time?"

Kamila bit her lip, "It wouldn't have happened. I've always known where you were."

He narrowed his eyes at her, "How?"

"Magick." She hurried on before he could jump to conclusions, "It wasn' a spell – it wasn't anything intentional. I'm not really sure how it happened, actually." She tossed a tin of coffee into her basket and sighed, "The best I can figure is it's because we spent so much time together, and we were so close. Somehow you sort of...imprinted on my Power." She shook her head, "Alls I know is, after you left New Orleans, any time I thought about you I always roughly where you were. I mean, I'm no GPS – I couldn't tell you the exact address – but I usually at least know the town you're in."

"That's somewhat unsettling."

"It helped keep you safe all these years."

"Point." He grabbed a few boxes of tea and tossed them in her cart, then explained when she gave him a look, "You shouldn't drink so much coffee." They continued talking while they shopped, mostly about the places they'd both traveled in the last 186 years and other light topics. When they got to the checkout, Klaus thought it was ridiculous to pay ninety-three dollars for groceries and tried to compel the cashier, but Kamila stopped him, apologized to the young woman behind the counter, and handed over the money.

"Five years old," she grumbled under her breath to him as she pushed half of the bags into his arms and gathered up the rest, leading him back out to her truck. She went on her tiptoes to deposit her bags in the bed and went to open her door, and noticed another truck parked a few stalls down from her. Inside was a young man – wide built, strong jaw, spiky blonde hair – and he was staring straight at them. She raised her eyebrows at him and he quickly looked away, putting his truck in gear and speeding off. Kamila looked over her shoulder at Klaus, who'd already loaded himself into the cab and didn't seem to notice the exchange. She decided not to bring it up. After all, they were actually have a good day.

* * *

"You know," Klaus said as he handed Kamila a bag of flour, which she stuffed into a cabinet. "You don't have to stay here; you could stay at my place."

She smiled at him and shook her head, "I appreciate the offer, _cher_, but no."

He sighed, "No one says 'no' to me quite as much as you, Kamila."

"We've had a good day," she explained, opening the refrigerator to put a carton of milk on the shelf. "But we've also had a lot of bad days since I got here. At this point, I'm sorry, but it's just not worth the risk." Before the shut the door, she grabbed one of the blood bags and tossed it over her shoulder for Klaus to catch.

"I understand," he said reluctantly, then snapped off the end of the tube on the bag and began pulling the blood through. Kamila had a flashback to 1997, when she'd been a foster mother for two young boys. They'd come in from a day of playing and she would pull out a couple of Capri Suns, and they would stab the straws into them and suck until the bag was completely compressed. It was a morbid symmetry, but it made her laugh inside. Tyson and Eli would both be graduating college soon – she still heard from them from time to time.

She finished putting the groceries away and checked her watch: It was almost five o'clock now. The group on the island must have found the cure by now – they should have found it almost immediately after Caroline sent the map – and they should have been back in Mystic Falls already. So where were Stefan and Damon? What could have happened to keep them from coming home?

"Rebekah hasn't called," Klaus said suddenly, as if reading her mind. He tossed the now-empty bag into the sink and pulled his phone out of his back pocket. He dialed her number but there was no answer, "And she won't pick up. Wonderful."

Kamila leaned back against the counter and crossed her arms, "I'm sure she's fine."

"I'm sure she is, too," he said, putting his phone back in his pocket. "I'm more worried about her failing to find the cure; it could be on its way back to me as we speak."

"If there really is only one dose, I'm sure there'll be a lot of debate over it," Kamila assured him, "I don't think you should be too worried." Her own phone began to ring and Klaus perked up as she fished it out of her pocket and looked at the screen. "It's just Darren. What's up, _cher_?" She asked by way of greeting when she took the call. "Well, damn, why are you even calling about it? Take him to Doc and tell him to just bill it to me. Yeah, that's fine. Call me later and let me know how he is. Bye." She hung up and rolled her eyes.

Klaus raised his eyebrows at her, "Who's Darren?"

"He takes care of my land when I'm gone," she told him, pouring a glass of water from the tap. "One of my boys took a buck kick from a nan and they think she broke his leg. Instead of taking him right to the doctor, Darren called me to make sure it was okay; I swear, he's a great worker but he's got no initiative."

Klaus was watching her with a surprised smile, "You still own the plantation?"

She tilted her head and furrowed her brow, like this was the most ridiculous question she'd ever heard. "Yeah, of course. Even bought up some more of the surrounding land. You remember Miss Celia?" Klaus nodded. "Darren is her great-great," she looked up at the ceiling, thinking, "Great-great-great-_great_ grandson.

This fact, however, didn't surprise Klaus at all. "You really loved Miss Celia."

Kamila smiled sadly, "She was only fifty-one when she passed. On her deathbed, she asked me to look after her family."

"I doubt she knew how literally you'd take it," Klaus joked lightly, putting an arm around her shoulders. "Hey," he said after a moment, "There's this charming French restaurant just outside of town – the wine is horrendous but the food isn't too bad – what do you say we go to dinner?"

She looked up at him and nodded, "Sure, that sounds-" Her phone rang again and she pulled away from Klaus so she could answer it, expecting it to be Darren again with an insurance question. Instead, she saw Caroline's name flashing across the screen. "Caroline?" Klaus became more attentive, even concerned.

Caroline obviously hadn't realized Kamila had picked up yet, because she was still speaking to someone in the background. "I know, but just call it a last-ditch effort, okay? I know Bonnie's on her way, but-"

"Caroline, _hello_," Kamila said, more firmly to get the girl's attention.

"Oh!" She breathed heavily into the phone, "Oh, thank god. I need you to come to Elena's house."

"What happened?"

"_Please_," Caroline begged, "I just need your help. I can't think of anything else to do. Please come, right now."

Kamila didn't even hesitate. "All right, I'll be there in fifteen minutes." She hung up and gave Klaus an apologetic look, "Raincheck on the French food. I'm being summoned." She left the kitchen and started down the hall.

"I'll come with you," he said, following close behind, but she put out a hand to stop him.

"She sounded really upset, Klaus," she said, grabbing her jacket from the coat-rack by the door. "And you know you're not her favorite person in the world right now. Please respect that." He didn't look happy about it – in fact, he looked wholly pissed off by the accusation – but he stayed put. "Thank you," Kamila breathed, purse on her shoulder now and keys in hand, "I'll call later."

* * *

Caroline met her on the steps of the Gilbert house, fifteen minutes later. "I'm sorry," she immediately started in, "I don't even know if there's anything you can do to help, but I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I didn't try everything and I know you know a lot about magick, so-"

Kamila grabbed her by the shoulders to cut off her rambling. "Caroline, sweetheart, _what happened_?"

"Jeremy's dead," it came out in a sorrowful burst of breath. "He died on the island and Elena refuses to believe he's really gone, and I thought, you know...maybe he doesn't have to be. Maybe you could do something. Bonnie's done it before; she brought him back from the dead, and you've been a witch way longer than her. Bonnie!" She suddenly shouted, looking over Kamila's shoulder as a sleek black car pulled up to the curb.

Kamila released her from her grip. "Go," she said, nodding to the car, "I'll go inside and see what I can do. But I really, really don't want you to get your hopes up," she said when Caroline's eyes brightened. She circled around the girl and went up to the house, opening the door without invitation and stepping into the hallway.

"What are you doing here?" Stefan appeared in the kitchen door frame, a steaming mug in his hand. He took a step backward and put the mug on the table in front of a young man – the same man from the grocery parking lot, Kamila realized – and then turned to face her again.

She squared her shoulders and stood up straight. "Caroline called – she wants me to see if I can do anything for the hunter."

"That's," the young man sputtered to Stefan, then looked at Kamila, "You're...I saw you with _Klaus_ this afternoon. Why would Caroline ask _you_ for help?"

Kamila shook her head, "I don't have time to explain it all right now; where's the boy?" Neither of them answered, but it didn't matter; the smell alone could lead her to the body. "Upstairs, then," she said, putting a hand on the banister.

In a flash, Stefan was standing in front of her, blocking her way. "You're not going up there."

"Stefan." Elena appeared at the top of the steps, visibly shaken but still standing her ground. "Let her up; I'm willing to try anything."

"Elena-"

"Stefan," she repeated, "_Let her up_."

Very slowly, he moved aside and Kamila squeezed past him, moving quickly up the stairs and following Elena into her brother's bedroom. She was struck immediately by the smell – the thick perfume of early decomposition – but she held her breath and pressed forward, kneeling next to the bed. The boy was cold, his body stiff and discolored, and she could see clearly the bruising bulge where his neck had been snapped. Instinct told her that he was beyond saving, but still she put her hands out over his body. "May I?" She asked Elena, and the girl nodded, watching carefully. Kamila let one hand rest on Jeremy's neck and the other over his heart, closing her eyes and searching his body for any possibility of revival.

"Well?" It wasn't Elena's voice that snapped her out of her meditation a few minutes later; it was Caroline's. She'd come upstairs to join them, Damon close behind.

Kamila dropped her hands and stood, biting down on the inside of her cheek. "I'm sorry, but there's no energy left in him."

"What does that even mean?" Damon demanded.

"When a person dies, sometimes they leave an energy behind, and every once in a while you can jump-start that energy and put life back into them. The hu—Jeremy," she corrected herself, "Died suddenly, and traumatically. It's sort of like when you get a sudden shock that gets your adrenaline pumping, and then you're suddenly exhausted – all of his energy left his body the moment he died. There's," she glanced at Elena and hung her head, "I'm sorry, there's just nothing left."

Caroline and Damon both frowned, but Elena gave no indication that she'd even heard the woman. "Bonnie wants to talk to us about something downstairs," she said instead, turning away. Damon followed her down the stairs, but Caroline stayed behind.

"Come on," she said softly to Kamila, "You should hear what Bonnie has to say, too. Maybe you'll have some added insight." Kamila nodded and went with her to the kitchen. Caroline sat down next to the young man, and Kamila sat on her other side. Elena was at the head of the table and Bonnie sat on the other side with her hands folded on the tabletop, like a diplomat about to enter a negotiation.

"Seriously," the man said in Caroline's ear as Stefan and Damon excused themselves and went outside. "Why is one of Klaus's people here?"

"Matt, not now," she said back quietly. "Just trust me when I say we're safe with her."

He looked past Caroline to size Kamila up, then gave a short nod and looked at Bonnie. "So you said you learned something on the island; what is it?"

Then she told them. She told them about the veil – the other side reserved exclusively for supernatural beings. The told them about Silas and how he was doomed to be stuck on that side forever when he died, never to be reunited with his love again. She told them about the Expression Triangle, and the three massacres that needed to take place to give her the Power to drop the veil. Kamila watched her carefully the entire time, disgusted by the things she was talking about but more focused on the look in the young witch's eyes. It was something familiar, but she couldn't quite identify it.

"Bonnie, you can't kill twelve people," the boy, Matt, was saying while Kamila attempted to identify that look.

"I know it sounds crazy," she told him in a calm, reassuring voice, "But it's the only way to get enough Power. Once the veil is dropped, the other side doesn't exist anymore. There's nothing separating us – we're all just one!"

"Bonnie, you are talking like a crazy person!" Caroline interrupted, "You are not _killing_ twelve people, and you sure as hell can't invite every monster who has ever died back into this world!"

Matt put a hand on her shoulder, "Caroline, I think she knows that."

"I can do it. I have the Power; we can bring _every_one back."

Kamila began to notice something else, quiet but still cutting through the sounds of the other three going back and forth. Elena. Her breathing had gone shaky and shallow, and when Kamila tore her eyes away from the other witch to look at her, the vampire was staring straight ahead like she was in a trance.

"Jeremy," Bonnie was still going on, "Alaric. Vicky."

Caroline was shouting now, "Bonnie, stop it! You can't just say these things."

"Everything's gonna be fine-"

"No, it's not! Kamila, would you please tell her that magick isn't supposed to work this way?" There was silence as the three of them turned to look at her, but she took no notice. She was still watching the dark-haired girl. "Kamila?" Caroline put her hand on her arm.

Instead of answering, Kamila said, "Elena?"

The front door opened and Stefan and Damon rejoined them in the kitchen. Stefan studied the girl and asked, "Elena, are you all right?"

The phone gave a sudden, shrill ring and everyone jumped, not expecting the sound. Elena took a moment and then rose slowly from the table. "I'll get it."

Matt pushed his chair out and started to rise, "Elena, I'll get-"

"I said," she cut him off, "I'll get it." She walked to the counter and picked up the cordless, clicking it on and putting it to her ear in a fog. "Hello?" Kamila had to listen a little harder than the others, but she made out the voice of a young girl, and she asked for Jeremy. "Jeremy can't come to the phone right now," Elena said in an even voice, almost polite, "He's not..." She trailed off, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. He's dead." Then she hung up and put the phone back in its cradle. She turned and pushed between the Salvatore brothers, wordlessly heading up the stairs and leaving the rest of the group to exchange worried glances and a few silent tears.

"I'll go talk to her," Damon said after a moment, following her up.

Caroline nodded and looked at Matt. "Matt, maybe you should, um," her eyes flicked to her friend, unable to look her fully in the eye, "Maybe you should take Bonnie home. Her dad's probably worried." He agreed to this and stood, circling the table and putting a hand on Bonnie's shoulder. The witch gave Caroline a challenging look, but it was ignored. Finally, she stood and gathered up her things. With one final look of apprehension to Kamila, Matt led her outside.

As soon as the door closed, Kamila was struck by a sudden realization and jumped to her feet. "I'll be right back," she said to Caroline, hurrying toward to door to catch Matt and Bonnie before they got to the truck. "Matt," she said, laying on the sweet southern charm, "I'm sorry, could I have a word with Bonnie for just one second?"

He eyed her, then looked at his friend, "Bonnie?"

"It's fine," she told him. He nodded and continued to his truck, opening the drivers side door and sliding in, resting his hands on the steering wheel while he waited. Bonnie met Kamila's gaze evenly and asked, "What?"

Kamila looked into her eyes – those big, empty brown eyes. "Knock knock."

"Excuse me?"

She took another step forward, never breaking eye-contacting. "Who's in there?" She asked quietly, feeling the hard barriers around Bonnie's mind, keeping her from gaining access to a single stray thought.

Bonnie didn't even bother to look confused. She blinked, leaned back, and smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know. Go ahead," she said when Kamila looked over her shoulder to the house, "Tell them, but do you really think they're going to believe you? They'll never trust you, especially not over someone they've known their entire lives." She took a few steps backward, headed for the truck, and smiled, "It was nice talking to you, though." She got in the car and Matt put it in gear, driving away. Kamila stared after the truck long after it had gone, until she heard a desperate cry from the house.

"_Kamila_!"

She was through the door before the last syllable, standing in the hallway as Elena made a manic track through the living room with a can of lighter fluid. Kamila crossed to the kitchen and put an arm around Caroline's shoulders. "Oh, you're still here," Elena said, voice thick and emotional, "Wanna do me a favor and start a fire?"

"What?" Kamila looked between her and Caroline, "No. What's going on?"

"We need a cover story, right? You think I didn't hear you guys talking earlier?" She said to Caroline and Stefan, spreading the liquid over the carpet. "Well, what are we gonna say? Animal attack? Tumble down the stairs? No, no," she shook her head, "We burn the house down with him inside of it."

Stefan took a step forward, "Elena, _stop it_."

"Why?" She demanded, throwing her arms from her sides, "Because you want me to not be in denial – you want me to face the truth? _This_ is the truth, Stefan: I don't wanna live here anymore. I don't want these sketches," she poured lighter fluid over the sheets of charcoal drawings on the coffee table, then kicked at the entertainment center, "I don't want this X-Box." She shook the can, but it was empty so she tossed it to the ground and opened the cabinet under the window, pulling out a tall, widely rounded bottle. "Not gonna need this bourbon anymore," she uncorked it and began sprinkling the alcohol inside on the floor, "Alaric's not here to drink it."

"I mean, unless you guys are willing to bring back every supernatural creature on the other side to get him back," she said like an accusation. Caroline was trembling so hard that Kamila could feel it, and she held her a little closer to her, as if she could somehow keep her safe from Elena's words. "Would you?" She was asking Damon now, walking over to him, "I know you want your drinking buddy back. Would you, Damon? Because I wouldn't," she breathed, pushing past him and crossing into the sitting room, where Jeremy's body was laid out on the couch. She started pouring the bourbon over his body, "I mean, does that make me a bad person? I have no idea." She slipped a thick, silver ring with a dark stone set in it off of her brother's finger and tossed it to her boyfriend. "He's not gonna need that anymore."

Caroline broke free from Kamila and took a step forward. "Elena, stop it; you're scaring me!"

"What else are we supposed to do with the body, Caroline?!" Elena shouted back, causing Caroline to step back into Kamila's arms, tears tracking down her face. "There's no room in the Gilbert family plot!" She picked up a framed photo and smashed it against the mantle, "Jenna and John took the last spots." She dropped the bottle, grabbed for a Strike Anywhere match, and ran it across the molding, sparking the tip.

Again, Stefan tried to reason with her. He stepped forward until they were just inches apart and said, "No, no, Elena, stop."

"There's nothing _here_ for me anymore, Stefan!"

"Can't you do something?" Caroline whispered to Kamila, "That Spark thing?"

Kamila looked at her with regret, "She's in too much turmoil; I wouldn't be able to catch her focus."

"Every inch of this house," Elena's voice was softening, "Is filled with memories of the people that I loved, that have died. My mom, my dad, Jeremy, Jenna, Alaric, John – even John. I mean, they're all _dead_; everyone is dead." And then she started to unravel. She pressed her free hand to her head and tried to put her words together, while simultaneously attempting to pull in a breath, failing at both. She was shaken, coming undone, and Kamila felt her heart breaking. She knew what this felt like. In her long life, she'd lost so many people, but they'd been spread out over almost two centuries and she'd always had at least a little time to heal. Elena Gilbert had lost everyone in less than three years.

The match burnt down to her fingers and she hissed in pain, dropping it. Damon moved to catch it, extinguishing the flame before it could reach the ground and straightening up to look her in the eye. "Elena, I need you to calm down."

"No, no, no," she chanted, breaking entirely and beginning to sob. She fell to the floor, hand to her stomach, trying to hold in what was already flooding out of her. "I can't, I can't, I can't. No, it hurts, it hurts. Make it stop. Please make it stop; it hurts." As she sobbed and Caroline cried silently next to her, Kamila felt her own eyes welling and she closed them tightly, willing to tears to stay back.

"Damon," Stefan said softly, reluctantly, "Help her."

His older brother nodded and knelt next to the girl, gathering her in his arms. "I can help you," his voice was so soft, it was hard to hear, "I want you to let me help you." Elena took in a deep, shuddering breath and pulled back from him, eyes on his face. "I can help you," he repeated.

"How?" She asked.

He hesitated, held her face in his hands, and said, "Turn it off."

"What?" Stefan asked in alarm, "No, don't-"

Damon held up a hand to stop him, but his eyes stayed on Elena, who was watching him attentively. "Just turn it off; everything'll go away. It's what you have to do – it's what I _want_ you to do. Just turn it off." She stared at him a moment longer and then looked down for a moment that seemed to stretch out for hours. When she looked back up, the tears had stopped falling and her eyes looked out blankly, unattached. Emotionless.

* * *

Kamila was still having trouble breathing. She felt for Elena, and for Caroline and Matt and everyone else who'd been touched by the loss of Jeremy Gilbert; their grief weighed on her almost as much as her own. After Damon had used his sire bond to make Elena turn off her humanity, things had gone eerily silent in the Gilbert house, smothering them all. Kamila had taken Caroline home because she was in no state to drive, and introduced herself to Sheriff Forbes when she walked the girl to the door. Caroline hadn't told her yet, that Jeremy had died, so when Kamila brought it up she had to witness another person breaking down. "I've known him since he was a boy," she'd whispered, gathering her daughter in her arms and hugging her tightly, "I held him the day he was born." Kamila had excused herself so they could grieve together.

She didn't want to go back to the boarding house yet. It was likely that Stefan, Damon, and Elena would all be there, and she didn't want to see them again right now. So instead, she pulled over and tried to remember the way to Klaus's mansion, and she turned her truck in the right direction.

"Kamila," he answered shortly, still upset that she'd asked him not to come with her earlier.

She sniffled and looked down at her feet, toeing at the ground and clenching and unclenching her teeth. "Hey," was all she could manage.

His anger quickly melted away and he reached out, putting a finger under her chin and tilting her face up. "What happened?"

"Jeremy Gilbert is dead," she blurted out, still not crying, but just barely holding it together. "And I was there with Caroline and Elena and there was just a lot of emotion flying around and it just sort of got to me."

Klaus pulled her into the house and shut the door, leading her into the large living room, where a warm fire was crackling. "You're still one of the most empathetic people I've ever met," he said gently, guiding her to the couch and pressing a glass of scotch into her hand. He sat down next to her and ran a hand over her hair as she downed the alcohol in one big gulp. "What can I do to help?" He asked.

She looked down at the glass, rolling between her hands and watching the firelight reflect off of it. "Do you remember my twenty-first birthday?" She sniffed and looked at him, giving him a watery smile, "All the ladies in town were clucking and gossiping because I was twenty-one and I didn't have a husband, or even a suitor, and you compelled old Danielle Wolffe's husband to tell everyone where he disappeared to every Saturday."

"The Plum Street brothel," Klaus chuckled, remembering. "Yes, I remember that."

"We'd been friends for about ten months at that point," Kamila continued, placing her glass on the end table, "And you could tell I was kind of upset by what they were saying. So when you took me home, we walked the land for a while and do you remember what you told me?"

He thought for a moment, then his eyes widened a little and he gave her an almost bashful smile. "I told you," he said slowly, scooting a little closer until their legs were touching, "That I couldn't be your husband or your suitor. But if you ever felt you needed something _else_ from me, I would be happy to oblige."

"I've had a rough couple'a hours that I'd really like to stop thinking about for a while," she told him, tilting her head and looking up at him through her thick eyelashes. "And I could really use something from you."

The hand that had been smoothing her hair down her back moved to cup her cheek, and Klaus drew closer to her until his face blotted out the light from the fire and his lips brushed against hers. Though they'd both changed so much over the years, it took only seconds for their bodies to recognize each other and react, the kiss growing stronger and more desperate, like they were trying to cram a century's worth of emotions into that one single act. One of Kamila's hands rested on Klaus's chest, just over his heart, and the other went around his shoulder to tangle in his soft, wavy hair. His own hands roamed all over her, from her thighs, to her waist, then settled around her back so he could pull her closer to him, their bodies pressed together tightly.

Kamila broke away for a moment. "Still human," she panted, resting her forehead against his, "Still need to breathe." She took a few deep breaths before her lips came crashing against his again, pulling him until she was laying on the couch and he was hovering over her, putting his weight on one elbow so he didn't crush her. He kissed along her jaw, up to her ear, then down her neck as she made soft sighing noises in the back of her throat and moved restlessly against him. "Bedroom," she had the presence of mind to murmur as one of his hands slipped beneath her blouse. In a flash, they were upstairs and Klaus had pressed into the soft foam of his mattress.

His lips skimmed from her chin down her chest until her shirt got in the way, and in a frenzy he ripped it open and continued his trek down to her stomach, then back up again. Kamila grasped the hem of his t-shirt with both hands and gave it a good yank, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. He arched down, every inch of skin of their bare flesh touching and sending familiar pulses of desire through their bodies. She hooked one leg around his hip and flipped so she was over him, peppering his chest with kisses, smiling against his skin when she nipped at the space over one of his ribs and he made a low growling noise. That had always been his sensitive spot. She made her way back up to his mouth as her hands worked to undo the button of his jeans and he pushed her long skirt down her legs and off the end of the bed. A moment later, Klaus flipped them back so she was beneath him, and finished working his jeans off and depositing them on the floor.

"Have I mentioned yet just how much I've missed you?" Klaus inquired, words muffled as his lips dragged across her collarbone.

"Mm," she murmured in agreement, arching her back so he could reach under her and unhook her pale blue bra. The next hour passed in strong, passionate distraction, the only sounds were that of heavy breathing and utterances of satisfaction. After it ended – in a burst of color and light – Klaus rolled away only to reach out for her a moment later, drawing her close to his chest.

"I'm sorry about what you must have gone through today," he whispered into her hair. After hearing nothing but rough, urgent growls from him for the past hour, it was strange for Kamila to hear his voice so gentle and sweet. "It must have brought up some bad memories for you."

She nodded against his chest and draped an arm across his stomach, curling into him. "It's the biggest burden of living as long as we do," she said sadly, "One day, someone you know is alive and well, and the next day they're just...gone." She curled in tighter, like she was trying to disappear into him altogether. She rested her head against his shoulder, eyelids growing heavy as she allowed her fatigue to finally overwhelm her. "It never gets easier when they go," she yawned just before drifting off to a peaceful sleep in his arms.

* * *

**A/N:**  
_I _did _say there would be some Klaus/OC._


	11. Allied

_Sorry for the long break between updates - I started a new job and I haven't had a whole lot of free time for writing. I'll try to be more on top of things._

* * *

**"Allied"**

Kamila tightened her closed eyes and rolled away from the light pouring in through the window, retreating under the quilt she'd sewn lifetimes before and curling into the warmth of Klaus's body. She smiled as she thought of all the books and movies about vampires, and how there was one thing everyone always got wrong: They weren't cold and clammy, like the truly dead. They were full of life, warmth, and perfect for cuddling with on an icy winter day. She let out a quite laugh, and was surprised when Klaus responded with, "What's so funny?"

She pulled the blanket down from her face and opened her eyes to find him wide awake and looking at her curiously. "I was just thinking," she said, edging closer until her head was resting on his chest, "About that time you went to Chalmette with me when I needed a new billy, and there was that freak snowstorm. I mean, a blizzard in southern Louisiana – to this day, there's never been anything like it – and of course, we had to get caught up in it."

"I'm still convinced you caused that storm," he teased. "Anyway, what about it?"

She smiled and crossed her arms against his chest, propping herself up so she could look at him. "I was thinking about how we ended up stuck in that freezing little tavern for three days straight, and we spent the whole time just cuddled together in bed." She looked toward the window, squinting in the bright light, "Uberto gave me a good shot to the gut when I got home, but I don't regret it."

Klaus reached up and tucked a tendril of long, dark hair behind her ear. "You never told me he hit you."

"He got in a few surprise shots over the years," she shrugged, "But he was nothing compared to my father, and I always stopped him when I could see it coming. I never told you because I knew what you'd do."

"I'd have killed him," he confirmed.

"Yeah." She leaned down and pressed a quick kiss against his lips, then rolled away to her back, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. It was almost noon. Beside it, she found something familiar. She reached over to pick it up, the metal cool and heavy in her hand, and for some reason, seeing it made her sad. "I didn't even realize you weren't wearing it," she said quietly, turning the ring around to stare at the crest covering the dark blue stone. "I guess you don't need it anymore, huh?"

Klaus rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his hand, "No. Hybrids are impervious to sunlight."

"I always liked this ring," she said absentmindedly, then put it back on the table and turned to face him, smile restored to her face. "Hey, so thanks for last night," she told him with another light kiss.

"Mm," he hummed by way of a "you're welcome," wrapping his arms around her. "It was my pleasure, I assure you. It's been a while." He ran his index finger over the tattoo on her right side – a five-inch black-and-gray depiction of a walnut tree with a twisted trunk and long, full branches. "I like your ink," he murmured as his hand tickled her sensitive skin.

Kamila gave him a sad smile, "It's the tree I buried my siblings under." She moved a little closer to him, reaching up to touch the feather on his shoulder, the small black birds bleeding from its edges, "I like yours, too."

"From one, many," he explained, glancing past her to the clock. "I don't know about you, but I'm feeling a little peckish. Lunch?"

She raised her eyebrows, "Do you have actual _food_ in this place?"

He thought for a moment, then shook his head, "No, but we could order in."

Kamila considered it for a while, then sat up suddenly and sighed, stretching and running a hand through her hair. "As tempting as that is, the frenzied little sister storming up your driveway might make it all just a little too dramatic for me." She raised her hand and focused on the door, just before there was a hard slam on the other side and the doorknob started to turn. "I hardly know your sister, yet I knew she wouldn't knock. Your family, I swear," she muttered, throwing her legs over the side of the bed and searching for her clothes.

"Nik!" Rebekah shouted on the other side of the door, and from the sound of things, she was throwing her full weight against it. "I don't know how you're keeping me out, but you'd better let me in _right now_!"

Kamila clasped her bra and secured her skirt around her waist, rolling her eyes at the door. "Does she have to be so noisy?" She said under her breath, then picked up the torn rag that used to be her blouse. She turned to glare at Klaus, who shrugged and struggled to hide his grin. She made a face and grabbed a soft coal-gray sweater from the top of his hamper, pulling it over her head and securing her hair back in a messy ponytail before flicking her wrist at the door. It crashed open and Rebekah came through, catching herself just in time to keep from sprawling out on the floor.

"What the hell?" The vampire demanded, looking wildly around the room until she spotted Kamila. "_You_."

"Me," Kamila confirmed.

Klaus looked back and forth between them, "You've met?"

"Briefly," Kamila told him, "When I was getting my room at the boarding house. I'll explain later."

Rebekah was staring at her brother, sitting up and covered only from the waist down by the blanket. "What, is this your girlfriend now? I'm abandoned on an island with a homicidal immortal and you're having a romp with some freakshow abomination?"

"Ah," he said thoughtfully, ignoring his sister altogether, "Over dinner tonight, then, Kamila?"

"Not tonight, _cher_," she gestured toward the window, "It's my time of the month, so to speak. And in a town fulla vampires, I'm not taking any chances; I'm gonna hunker down early." She made her way downstairs, gathered her purse and her car keys, and left.

* * *

Kamila woke the next morning to a rattling on the window bars of the cellar door, and she looked up to see Stefan Salvatore tapping a water bottle against them. When he saw she was awake, he held up the bottle and raised his eyebrows in a silent "do you want this" gesture. She gave him a sleepy nod and flicked her wrist, breaking the sealing spell around her and allowing the door to swing open. As he stepped inside, she located the blanket she'd brought with her the night before and wrapped it around her body, stretching beneath it and feeling her back and shoulders pop. "You're lucky I'm not modest," she told Stefan as he sat down in the chair a few feet from her. She noticed that two of the legs looked like they'd been thoroughly gnawed on.

"Nothing I haven't seen before," he replied shortly, leaning forward to hand her the water bottle. She emptied it in three giant gulps, then twisted the top back on and set the bottle next to her. "Why didn't you just bring a change of clothes down?"

Kamila sighed, "I've found that if I bring clothes, I just end up shredding them during the night. A sort of animalistic self-sabotage or something – I never touch the blanket, though."

He nodded absently, an awkward silence settling over them for a moment before he glanced at the door and said conversationally, "Smart idea, sealing yourself in with your magick. Elena thought it would be funny to try and let you loose on us last night."

"I was worried about something like that happening," Kamila told him, rising slowly and feeling a few more joints pop, "That's why I did it. Have you heard of the switch-imprint?"

"When a vampire turns their humanity off, their last emotional state with it on determines how they behave," he confirmed. "Most vampires don't believe in it, but my friend Lexi did."

She smiled, "That's 'cause Lexi Branson was a smart girl. We crossed paths a few times, before you were even born," she explained in response to his look of astonishment. "She'd show up at sabbats sometimes to pay her respects to Nature, since vampires are cut off from Her. My friend Kip and I spelled an amulet for her one year, to help her feel connected again."

"Black kyanite," Stefan recalled. "She always had it with her; she said she wouldn't even trade it for a daylight ring. I can't believe you're the one that gave it to her."

"Thought you woulda realized by now, Stefan," Kamila said lightly, "Ours is a very small world." She tilted her head and studied him for a moment, "Not complaining, but you're being awfully polite to me today."

He opened his mouth, then closed it again and looked over his shoulder. "Can you..." He trailed off, pointing a finger to his ear and then spinning it in a circle, as if to encompass the entire room.

"Ah, yeah," she nodded, sneaking one hand out from beneath the blanket. "_Lasciate che nessuno ascolta le parole che diciamo, perché queste parole sono il nostro e solo nostro_. Okay," she told him, "If anyone tries to listen in, all they'll hear is you expressing a rather unhealthy interest in my birthmark."

"Uh _huh_." He looked toward the ceiling briefly, then stood, "I told you that Caroline's my best friend, right?" She nodded, leaning back against the wall and tightening the blanket around her as the cold of the basement started to sink in. "I trust her more than anyone else in the world, and she seems to trust you, so," he shrugged, "I figured I should at least give you a fair shot."

Kamila smiled, "Well, I really appreciate that, Stefan; you won't regret it. But, um," she looked down at herself, "Why are you telling me this right _now_?"

He made an almost guilty face, "Because I could use your help with a few things today."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "I was planning on taking Elena back to school today, but she almost killed someone last night so I was hoping you could do that...hypnotism thing you do, to keep her from hurting anyone."

"I call it a Spark," she informed him, "And sure, I can do that. What else?"

He toyed with his daylight ring distractedly as he spoke, "Caroline's mother called me last night and asked me to come in this afternoon. She said some suspicious things have been happening that she wants to discuss, and it wouldn't hurt to have some fresh eyes, so to speak. You're not from Mystic Falls, you haven't been caught up in everything here – if there's something going on, you might be able to see something we can't."

Kamila's forehead crinkled, "That's not just an underhanded way of accusing me of whatever these 'suspicious things' are, is it?"

"I'm not accusing you of anything," he said sincerely.

She thought for a moment, then agreed, "All right, I'll go with you. Anything else? 'Cause I'd really like to not be naked anymore."

"No—well, actually," Stefan corrected himself, "Yeah. Caroline does a lot for all of us, and I think she feels like she has to be _so _strong that she can't drop the brave face every once in a while. But seeing her with you the other night, she didn't seem to have that concern, and I think she really needs someone that can let her be herself right now. So maybe you could," he shrugged, "I dunno, take her to do something tonight; let her let off some steam?"

"Definitely," Kamila readily agreed. "I'll figure something out something fun for us to do. Now, may I...?" She trailed off, gesturing toward the door.

Stefan glanced at it, then stood and nodded, "Yeah, sorry. Go ahead."

"_Far loro sentire_," she murmured to break her spell, then said brightly, "Why would I want to spell on a birthmark? I know it's an unusual shape, but I really was born with it." She gave him a little wink and stepped into the basement hallway, making her way up the stairs, past Damon and Elena, and into her room to shower and change clothes. When she made it back down to the den half an hour later, Caroline had joined the group and was leaning against the back of the couch, sucking on a blood bag.

"Hey, Kamila," she greeted with a smile, then gestured to the bag with embarrassment, "Sorry. Breakfast."

Kamila shook her head, "Don't bother me none to see a vampire drinking from a blood bag." She hopped up onto the table that sat against the opposite wall and asked, "So what brings you by so early?"

"I thought I'd give Stefan and Elena a ride to school," she answered cheerily, finishing off the bag and tossing it onto an end table.

"Oh," Kamila acted surprised, turning to Elena, "You're going back to school today?"

The brunette shrugged lazily, "Got nothing better to do."

"That's the spirit." Kamila glanced at Stefan, who gave her a discrete nod, and she began calling on her Power. "Elena, I need you to do me a favor."

"Pass," she said.

Kamila ignored her. Her palm opened and the bright light reflected in Elena's eyes, which went wide and attentive. "You will not harm anyone while you're at school," she commanded.

"I will not harm anyone at school," Elena repeated robotically, then blinked a few times and looked around, quickly forgetting the incident that had just taken place. "Are we going or what?"

"We're going," Stefan said, though his eyes were on Kamila, trying to convey his thanks without saying anything. "So, the sheriff's office, four o'clock?"

"I'll be there."

He nodded and followed Elena toward the door. Caroline started after them, but Kamila caught her by the arm and held her back. "Hey, Caroline, do you have any plans tonight?"

The girl's forehead wrinkled in confusion, "No, why?"

"I just thought maybe we could do something," Kamila shrugged. "I dunno, eat dinner, get drunk, go dancing, something fun like that."

For a moment it looked like Caroline might refuse – no one would blame her, with everything she had going on – but then she smiled and nodded. "You know what? That sounds like just what I need after this crappy week. I'll come by around seven, okay?"

"Sounds good." Kamila waved as the girl left for school, leaving just her and Damon – with whom she'd had very little interaction with – alone in the house. "Good morning," she said brightly when she caught him staring at her.

He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side. "I don't get it," he said, "Are you sleeping with Klaus, or are you _trying_ to sleep with Caroline?"

She rolled her eyes, "Charming." He shrugged and brushed past her, disappearing up the staircase without another word. Kamila sighed and moved over to the couch, pulling out her phone and dialing Klaus's number.

"Are we all nice and human again?" He said by way of greeting when he answered, voice thick with sleep.

"Well, I am," she told him with a laugh, "I think it's a little too late for you, though."

"You're probably right," he agreed, then asked, "What are you up to?"

She stretched out her legs and leaned her head back, looking around. "I need something to occupy my time; seems like this town is a whole lot of waiting around."

"It is at that."

"So..." She said leadingly, "Can I take you up on that breakfast?"

She heard the ruffling over covers, and a deep sigh. "I was quite hoping for a few more hours sleep; I'm a bit of a night owl, if you can imagine."

"Well, what if I offer _you_ breakfast?" She waggled her eyebrows, regardless of the fact he wasn't there to see her do so; she knew he'd understand her meaning.

As she predicted, he made a low humming sound from the back of his throat, and she could just imagine him perking up, wakefulness filling him. "_Is_ that what you're offering?"

"Not much, but enough," she confirmed, smiling down at her bare feet. Klaus told her he'd pick her up in half an hour, and she could practically hear him salivating before the line went dead. It was amazing to her, how just days ago he was someone completely unrecognizable, and now he was showing intimations of the man he'd been back in 1822. The man she'd called her best friend.

* * *

"_I have never encountered someone so caustic as Signora Wolffe," Kamila remarked conversationally as she swung her parasol in a wide arc, imaging she were bringing it down on the awful woman's head. "Perhaps it is unkind to say such things, but what do I know? I am, in her words, just a worthless immigrant farm girl – what do I know of social etiquette, after all?"_

_Niklaus walked leisurely alongside her, hands clasped behind his back. "Danielle Wolffe is indeed a nuisance," he agreed, "Would you like me to dispose of her for you?"_

_Kamila tipped her head back and laughed, and Niklaus couldn't help but watch the smooth, olive-toned flesh of her throat, the pulse quivering beneath it. He found himself doing this a lot – studying her skin, her features, like they were artwork – but it wasn't his hunger that drove him to do so. He would never dream of making her a victim. It was her entire presence that captivated him, in a way no other human ever had; she made even the simplest things, like laughing, seem like an otherworldly experience. "Niklaus," she gave him a light shove, "That is not the solution to all of life's problems."_

"_It is in my world," he said with a smirk, reaching out to catch her parasol as she swung it again. He glanced up at the dark clouds that were moving in to obstruct the sun, "You should have brought a proper umbrella. It's bound to rain again before we get back to the plantation, and one drop of water will tear right through this flimsy gamp."_

_Kamila sighed and nodded, "It has rained so much lately; I suppose I was being overly..._ottimista_?"_

"_Optimistic," Niklaus provided._

"_Yes. Overly optimistic about the sunshine today." She ran a hand over the soft blue velvet of her dress, a gift from Niklaus that she knew would be ruined if it got too wet. She knew he cared nothing of it's value – he was wealthy beyond comprehension – but she had come from nothing and didn't want to get into the habit of taking such things for granted now that she was well-off. "We should find a cab before it starts, then." No sooner had the words left her lips, than a fat raindrop fell on the crown of her head, amidst the carefully pinned curls. Then Niklaus grabbed her hand and they were running, laughing as one drop turned into a downpour; laughing like children as their shoes splashed in the quickly-forming puddles in the cobblestone road. If he'd wanted to, Niklaus could have gathered her in his arms and sped them to her home, fast enough that they would move between the raindrops. But he knew she didn't like going so fast that she missed out on moments, and to be honest, he didn't mind getting caught in the rain once in a while._

_They managed to wave a cab down, but they were both already soaked through by the time they shut the carriage door behind them. Half an hour passed as they rode to the edge of town, and eventually Kamila reached into the pocket of Niklaus's waistcoat, opening his watch and reading the time. "Uberto will be cross; they won't have had time to bring in the indigo, and it drowns so easily. I should have stayed to help-"_

"_You have been wrist-deep in soil every waking hour for the past two weeks," Niklaus said with a roll of the eyes, "I won't have you feeling guilty about taking one day to come to town. If Uberto tries to hold you responsible, I will personally rip his pestiferous tongue from his mouth."_

_Kamila gave him a steady look, face serious, "You will not make such threats against my brother, Niklaus. I—oh!" She exclaimed as they drew closer to the plantation, "The bayou has overflowed!" She pointed out the window and her friend followed her gaze. Outside, the gray water almost looked as if it were bubbling, rising over the edge of the embankment and flowing freely into the fields. In a flash, Kamila was halfway out of the carriage window, calling out to the driver to stop at the barn, instead of taking them directly to the house._

"_Why the barn?" Niklaus asked when she ducked back inside._

_Her eyes were wide and worried, and turned a muddy shade of green. "The goats," she said, slight panic creeping into her voice. "The swamp moccasins will be washed out of the bayou; I have to secure the goats."_

_Niklaus looked as if he wanted to say something – tease her for such sentimentality over creatures that could be easily replaced – but he'd known her for almost ten months now, and he knew how she felt about her animals. Instead, he just nodded and positioned himself at the door, ready to swing it open as soon as they came to a stop. When they did, they both rushed to the barn door and pushed it open. Water was already flooding into the barn, the ground muddy and hay sticking together in great clumps, and the goats were bleating frantically and kicking their back legs against the stalls._

"_What do you suggest we do with them?" Niklaus asked as he looped a rope around one of the nannies necks and led her from her stall. "Take them to the guest quarters?"_

_Kamila shook her head, "No, it has a dirt floor; the snakes could just as easily get in there. Bon-bon," she cooed to one of the nans as she moved to open the stall door, "Come here, my Bonfila; come now. We'll bring them into the main house. I don't care if Uberto has a fit; they will all sleep in my room, if they must. Luce," she said to the lone billy, going down on her knees to throw her arms around the black and white speckled creature. When all six goats were tethered and calmed, Niklaus and Kamila began leading them the few hundred feet to the house._

"_Open the door, Niklaus," Kamila called from behind him, and her friend did as she asked. With the three creatures he led, he climbed the steps and twisted the doorknob, pushing it open and ushering them inside. Taking their lead, the remaining three struggled against Kamila's grip and toward the safety of the house, so she let them go and they raced inside. She smiled, comforted, and raised one foot to ascend the steps._

_That was when she felt it. A sudden, sharp stabbing in her ankle that sent a cold shock up through her leg. "Ah!" She gasped in surprise and fell back, landing in the mud and thinking, ridiculously, that her dress was certainly beyond saving by now. She felt something brush against her arm and looked down to see the ground moving. No, she realized, it wasn't the ground; it was a black-brown serpent, slithering away from her. She'd been bitten, and she could feel herself going cold already, the venom pushing into her bloodstream._

"_No!" She heard the word like it had been screamed in her ear. Suddenly she was in Niklaus's arm, and he had carried her into the house and laid her in the foyer, the goats gathered around them. "Kamila," he said, looking down at the wound, then back up at her. He raised his wrist to his lips and bit down, drawing blood and extending his arm to her, "Here. Drink. It will heal you."_

_But he'd told her of the dangers of vampire blood, and that if something should happen to her when she still had his blood in her system, she would become like him. She would be forever dead – she would have to watch her siblings live and die, leaving her behind. She drew away from the blood, shaking her head, "No, Niklaus, I cannot chance it."_

_By now, his wound was already healing and he pulled his arm back, looking back down at her ankle. "Heal yourself, then."_

"_You know I can't," she told him weakly, suddenly feeling very tired. "I was gifted to save others, not myself."_

"_Then," he said, but nothing came after. "Then...then... Dammit, why must you be so stubborn? Just have my blood!"_

"No_," she said, as strongly as she could._

_He gave a low growl, then pulled a hand through his wet hair and glanced around, more frantic than Kamila had ever seen him look. More desperate. "I suppose we'll have to do it the old fashioned way, then," he finally said, moving her so her back was to the wall. He took hold of her leg and lifted it until his mouth was to level with the wound. He pressed his lips against it, the saltiness of blood and bitterness of venom washing over his tongue as he began to take pulls from the swelling flesh. When his mouth was full, he turned and spat into the urn that sat by the door. He pulled again, spat again, and repeated the process until the bitterness had gone. Then he allowed himself one more mouthful – he told himself it was to be sure the venom was gone from the wound, but he knew this was a lie. For months he'd wondered what the blood of such a rare being would taste like. He'd had werewolves before, and witches, and humans, and vampires alike. But he'd never had a mixed breed. He took his mouthful in slowly, holding it in his mouth and relishing the taste. Blood was usually metallic, coppery and tart and disappointing. Kamila's, however, was different. It was sweet and rich and full of life, and he equated it to tasting a fresh strawberry after living an entire life on nothing but stale bread._

_He wanted more, but he stopped himself. He gently released her leg and brought his eyes up to hers, feeling something close to shame for having fed from her without her permission. Her lids had gone heavy, drooping over her eyes, but she was smiling at him. "I probably would have been all right long enough for you to get a tonic from the apothecary," she teased lazily, leaning her head back against the wall, "But I appreciate it nonetheless."_

"_I don't do well under pressure," he said with a light laugh, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His face got suddenly serious as he looked her over, "Kamila, I-"_

"_Kamila!" A booming voice interrupted them. Uberto was coming down the hall, rope in hand and one of the nannies attached to the end of it. "What are these filthy beasts doing in my house?!"_

_The woman rolled her eyes and said, as evenly as she could, "Don't fret, brother. They will sleep in my room." She gave Niklaus a little nod._

"_That does not answer my question." By the time he reached them, Niklaus had already helped Kamila to her feet and was wrangling the goats._

"_Ah, Uberto," he said in a put-on pleasant tone, "Thank you for bringing Lilana back; she got away from us." He took the rope Uberto held and led the small herd toward the stairs, his free hand supporting Kamila as she hobbled along with them._

_They started up the steps, and Uberto fumed below them. "You will not come into my house and ignore my questions, Signor Mikaelson." In defiance, Niklaus said nothing. He just continued helping the group along to Kamila's room, helping the woman into bed and closing the door to keep the animals in._

"_Hush," she whispered as the goats began bleating. They immediately silenced and began kneeling so they could sleep, and Niklaus marveled at how her magick had strengthened in the short time he'd known her. "Thank you for your help, Niklaus," Kamila told him with a smile, blinking heavily up at him. He'd had to take a lot of her blood to get all the venom out, and he was sure she must be feeling very weak and exhausted._

_He smiled back at her and said, "I think I shall stay with you tonight."_

"_Here?" She forced her eyes to stay open, "In my quarters?" He nodded, and she feigned a gasp, "But that is so inappropriate. A man staying in an unwed lady's room for a night; unheard of!"_

"_Because we're always so appropriate," he japed, nudging her until she made room for him to lay next to her. He kicked off his shoes and lowered himself down next to her, turning on his side so he could watch her, making sure her chest continued to rise and fall. "Sleep now," he told her in an uncharacteristically soft voice, reaching out to run a thumb up and down her arm. Kamila didn't need to be told twice; her eyes slipped shut and unconsciousness began to take her. Before she was completely gone, she heard him whisper, "You taste amazing, by the way. Like nothing else in this world."_

Kamila tugged on the hem of her t-shirt and pressed it against her hand, staunching the blood flow from her palm and raising her eyes to Klaus. He was licking the last of it from his lips and trying to keep the desire for more out of his eyes, to maintain the charade that his hunger did not drive him. He remembered the first time he'd tasted Kamila's blood, how the odd sweetness of it had been such a delightful surprise after the acerbity of venom and swamp water. After that, she'd let him feed from her from time to time, usually when she was trying to talk him into something. She used her blood the way other women would use their sexuality, but he couldn't say he'd minded. There was no blood out there like hers, and god, how he'd missed it.

"Thank you," he said, leaning back in his chair. "It's as good as I remember."

"I never know if I'm supposed to say 'thanks' to that or not," Kamila said with a laugh. "I mean, I don't exactly have control over how my blood tastes." She gave him an exasperated look and reached out to run her thumb over the corner of her mouth, picking up a stray drop and holding it out so he could press his lips to it, licking the blood away.

Klaus grinned and reached for his jacket, "Your turn, then. Where would you like to go?"

"There's a Pancake Palace in town, isn't there?" She cringed as she said it; why did franchised companies have to have such silly names? Why couldn't it be _le gourmet gâteau_, or anything else, really, that didn't sound like the secret hideout of anthropomorphized pony superheroes in a kids' Saturday morning cartoon?

"I believe so," Klaus said as he opened the door of the Salvatore house for her, putting a hand in the small of her back to lead her outside. "I ran here, so if you want to go by car you'll have to drive. Though it might suit you to get used to vampire speed, considering it will be a part of you soon."

Kamila made a face and shook her head, "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it, but for now I prefer to drive." She walked out to her pickup, swinging the door open and sliding into the driver seat. Klaus seated himself beside her on the bench seat and gave her a long, unreadable look, which made her shift uncomfortably. "What is it?"

"I was just thinking," he said slowly, "When you turn, your blood probably won't taste the same."

"And you're thinking you should stockpile my blood the way you did with the doppelganger?"

He shook his head and looked out the window, "No, I wouldn't do that. Good lord, what is that noise?" He demanded suddenly, as she started the car and her radio came to life, turned up the top volume it had been at the day before.

Kamila glared at him, "It's bluegrass and it's wonderful. _Oooh_," she sang along, her voice still fluid and beautiful, but thicker with her southern accent, "_I'm gonna sing 'til my feet turn blue – I'll sing loud enough to go through the mountains to you_! Do you know," she said as she pulled out onto the street, speaking loudly over the music, "That I met the Wailin' Jennys when they were first starting out? They were playing in this little park for a summer festival and I walked by and heard 'em. I immediately knew they were gonna be big someday, and I told 'em so." She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel as the music banged on.

Even though the noise was pounding in Klaus's ears unpleasantly, he leaned his head back and smiled at Kamila. Now that he'd dropped his defenses around her, it was becoming strangely simple to fall back into his old routine with her. Teasing, laughing, carelessness. He knew he should cap this before it went too far and started bleeding into the rest of his life – before he became soft and compromised to all of his enemies – but he didn't know if he could. More than that, though, he didn't know if he wanted to. It was exhausting, being so on point and terrible all of the time; with Kamila, he could just _be_. Reaching across the bench street, his hand found her free one and closed around it, giving it a light squeeze, trying to convey his gratitude without having to speak. He wasn't sure he could find the words. She seemed to understand, however, because she squeezed back and gave him a soft smile before turning her eyes back to the road.

* * *

**_A/N:_**  
_Now, I of course respect other peoples' opinion of my writing, but I'm also human so there is something I would like to address. There is a Guest account (I assume it's the same person every time, though it could be different people) that has been giving less and rave reviews on this story. Which normally is fine - I know I'm not the best writer in the world. I have little regard for "proper" grammar, and I am horrible at editing, and sometimes my research is wrong.  
_  
_However, this Guest has taken issue with my original character, to whom I have put much time and thought and effort into, and I am very proud of this character. The Guest finds Kamila to be underhanded and manipulative, disingenuous and wholly unworthy of Klaus's affections. This is something I have to get defensive about, because that is not the way I - or anyone else who has commented so far, save for this one person - sees Kamila. Yes, she is a little manipulative, but EVERYONE on TVD is manipulative, and at least Kamila is a good soul.  
_  
_Another comment was that I should not have this story listed in the Klaus/Caroline pairing of this site. A tad more understandable, but I would like to point out that the description says quite clearly "Klaus/OC, eventual Klaus/Caroline. I am not writing a quick-fix ship fic; I am trying to write a substantial plot, where you actually get a clear story leading up to Klaus and Caroline being together.  
_  
_As I stated before, I respect other peoples' opinions, and I am not saying anything detrimental to this Guest's personality, nor do I wish anyone else to go on the defensive for me against this person. However, I will say that if this Guest does not like the pacing, pairing, and character development in Recompense, I politely invite you to stop reading the story. There are plenty other stories out there that may be more to your liking._

_Thank you._


End file.
